#any more sappy things eli

[angstyaches]

ooh so i just had the stupidest hc/request

as they bond more and become friends with each other rather than just family, shayne, eli and felix regularly go out and get drinks and hang out and talk shit about ryan and nancy (in a <3 way). and charlie is used to randomly getting drunk, misspelled texts from shayne, usually complaining about elliot being an Old Man Tm or some stupidly sappy thing that shayne will deny saying for the rest of his life lmaooo

i just love the idea of them being domestic okay🍄

Okay, I love ALL of this, and the drunk texts to Charlie are a perfect headcanon too, but I wanted to quickly get a little scene out based on this and this is what happened! Maybe the beginning of the tradition?

CW: alcohol mention.

___

“No,” Shayne was still muttering in protest, even when they were seated at a table and Elliott had already carried over the first round of drinks.

Shayne had been sulking too much to tell Elliott his order, so Elliott had gotten him the same as himself. Whisky in an obnoxious glass that was way too big for its purpose, overcrowded ice cubes – Shayne refused to think of them as ‘rocks’ – clinking about. How original. Only Elliott could be given immortality and still act as though he didn’t know that more than one kind of drink existed.

“Oh, stop whining,” Felix grinned, driving his foot into Shayne’s ankle from the other side of the table. Shayne couldn’t tell if the low lighting in the bar was just washing him out, but it seemed as though Felix had just spent three weeks in central Europe, only to come back even paler than when he’d left. “Didn’t you miss us, bud?”

Like a hole in the fucking head was the first response that came to mind, but Shayne didn’t have it in him to attack Felix’s feelings so soon after their return. He also felt like he might spontaneously combust if he admitted that he had missed their presence in the house.

He settled on an ambiguous grunt, and then slumped back in his seat, practically disappearing into his oversized black hoodie. This was what he’d been wearing when Elliott and Felix had arrived in his room and abducted him from his solitude. They’d given him a minute to change out of his loungewear bottoms and into some jeans, at least, although they weren’t looking much more put together themselves. Felix’s pigtails were a little askew from where he’d likely fallen asleep in the car on the way home from the airport. Elliott was wearing a polo neck top and a cardigan, which, compared to his usual fashion choices, was on par with Shayne and his laughably giant hoodie.

“So, come on, kid. Tell us everything that’s been going on since we left.” Elliott took a slurp of his whisky, closing his eyes as though he’d never tasted it before and was blown away by it.

Shayne gave an uncooperative shrug. “Like what?”

“Nancy was awfully short with us when we returned.” Felix frowned and grimaced all at once, eyes trained on Elliott for support. “Perhaps partially due to the fact that my suitcase wheels tracked some mud onto the front hallway tiles –”

“We were wondering if there’s been any tension between her and Ryan,” Elliott interrupted, an eyebrow raised in Shayne’s direction. “We thought maybe you could fill us in.”

“Especially if it’s juicy,” Felix murmured, biting his lip and suddenly becoming very interested in the umbrella that topped his blue Hawaii.

“Wait.” Shayne rubbed the heel of his hand against his jaw, flexing the joint sharply. He’d gotten back into the habit of doing that, after spending so much time alone these past few weeks. “Did you two drag me out here to bitch about Ryan and Nancy?”

“Mmm, not bitch…”

“Gossip,” Felix offered weakly.

“No.” Elliott tapped a finger along the side of his glass. “Let’s call it… exchanging notes.”

“I failed every single one of my exams.” Begrudgingly, Shayne reached for his glass. “Taking notes was never exactly my fucking forte.”

Elliott wheezed out a sigh.

“Look, I don’t know,” Shayne shrugged. “Do you guys think I hung out with them the whole time you were away? You think I stood looking over Ryan’s shoulder while she worked, snuggled up next to Nancy while she was studying? You think we sat around and played poker and shot the shit every night?”

“I told you,” Elliott murmured. His gaze was trained on Felix now, who abruptly looked away and once again seemed to be examining the insides of his cocktail.

Shayne’s teeth clenched. “You told him what, El?”

“I told Felix you wouldn’t have any gossip for us.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t gossip.”

Elliott hesitated, lips hovering near the rim of his glass. “Oh... grow up, Shayne.”

[skegulium]

8, 10, 11, 12, and 13 for Orivar <3

Does your oc prefer being in a crowd or being completely alone? How many people can be around them before they get uncomfortable?

Orivar prefers to be alone! She's been a lot more of an introvert ever since her conception - aggressively disinclined to socialize and nervous to do so. There are occasions where she will choose to be in a group, but it always has to be on her own terms. She has to choose what she's doing, how long she's there, and how she leaves. The moment she loses control of what she can do - or she gets the slightest sniff of danger - she's fucking leaving.

How open is your oc to trying new things? Are they the adventurous sort, or would they rather stay in their comfort zone? Why?

Orivar is... somewhat open to trying new things? Same logic applies as before - as long as she can control the situation, she's open to try quite a bit. She loves trying new food, and she's willing to try new experiences as long as it's advantageous to her! Things that have a low risk associated with it, have friends involved, or could bring her financial gain are quite appealing for her to try. She grew up staying in her own comfort zone with new experiences, but has since grown restless and tired of constantly turning things down to be safe. She's not reckless, but what's the point of being locked in a room for sweeps if you can't at least go outside and enjoy the fresh air?

What is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to your oc?  Do they still feel ashamed for it? Were there any witnesses?

Oh god. Oh _god._ I have no idea. I'm sure there's a lot of embarrassing things she's done that she's been horrified about? There was a time when she had a big, sappy, disgusting crush on @rebatrolls's Vadaya, and she's definitely put her foot in her mouth a few times during their time in a groupchat. I think I remember at least one occasion where Orivar was trying to bite his now-kismesis by making a passing comment about naming your lusus? And Vadaya had said that he also named his lusus. I feel like Orivar still wakes up in a cold sweat, haunted by her foot-in-mouth-ness of it all.

Does your oc have any best friends? Who was/is their closest friend? What about their worst enemy?

She's had a handful of best friends! Growing up, she ended up killing her first best friend. Then she had a friend named Aticus who she broke the arm of, and managed to convince to still be her friend, but he ended up canonically dying a few years back during a server-wide event that I RP'd her in. She's gotten a Moirail though, @mirkstrolls Videle! And her ash, @chitrolls Eli, is a best friend! She still cherishes her crush Vadaya as a best friend too. I haven't played her with others in a hot minute though, so outside of her quads and crushes, she hasn't gained any other best friends. As for enemies... I don't think she's got any that she considers as such.

How dangerous is your oc? Are they completely innocent, or someone to be feared? Do others know?

Oh Boy. I'd say pretty fucking dangerous, as dangerous as a rustblood could be. She's definitely not innocent. She's got quite a body count of trolls of all castes - and a disproportionate number of them are seadwellers and clowns. Hell, she killed her first troll when she was the troll equivalent of like. 7 or 8? She was a pretty bitter teenager, and used the excuse of feeding her lusus as a reason to target highbloods. She's quite knowledgeable in how to fight highbloods despite the strength differences, and a current plot point for her is that she's fallen ass backwards into training little murder kids how to kill people for money. She's a lot calmer now and doesn't kill for silly grudge reasons, but she's not got any qualms about doing it.

[dandylion240]

otp/f/o wedding questions for Eli @izayoichan

1.) Who proposes? Where do they propose? What does the ring look like? Do they both have engagement rings?

In all of Eli's dreams he see's himself proposing. It's the last song of the night and he dedicates to his special someone. He invites them to join him on the stage and at the end of the song he goes down on one knee as asks them to marry him. The ring will be white gold with an emerald setting. Emeralds represent new beginnings. Yes they willl both have engagment rings. Eli's ring will also be white gold with a pink saphire nessled between two small diamonds. Pink saphires symbolise love and commitment.

2.) What theme are they going for? Outdoorsy? Tropical vacation? Maybe a club theme?

It'll be a jungle adventure.

3.) Who spends the most time picking out their dress/suit? Do they want something simple, or do they want something custom and extravagant?

Eli will agonize over whether he wants to wear a dress like Cecil or if he wants to wear a suit. All he knows for sure is that it has to be white with a little bit of pink highlights.

4.) What dessert do they choose? Cannolis? Ice cream sundaes? A classic cake? What flavour do they pick? Is there more than one dessert?

Strawberry cheesecake decorated with pink roses and green vines.

5.) How many people do they both invite? Immediate family and a few close friends, or cousins, second cousins, and A’s aunt’s best friend’s sister?

Eli would prefer a small, private wedding away from any paparazzi. He just wants their close family and friends to share this moment with them.

6.) Who are the groomsmen/bridesmaids? How many are there? Are they all matching exactly or do they have a few personal touches to their outfits?

The groomsmen will be Eli's two younger brothers and Ryan. Josie will also be a bridesmaid.

7.) Who is the best man and/or maid of honour?

Eli's best man/maid of honour will be his sister Jolene.

8.) Who’s walking down the isle? Who’s walking them? Does either of them start to get emotional as they see their future spouse for the first time in a day?

Eli has always wanted to be walked down the aisle by his dad, Jonah. Eli will cry upon seeing his future spouse waiting for him at the end of the aisle. More than likely his tears will start Jonah to crying.

9.) Does anyone object or not approve of the marriage? If so, are they shunned and kicked out for speaking out against their love?

Yes someone from the past will appear and object to the wedding. Luckily for the couple Cecil will be there to escort the person away.

10.) Do they stumble or get nervous saying their vows? Does the other get emotional hearing the other say such sweet words to them?

Yes. Eli will be nervous. He knows he was the one who pushed his partner away the first time. He's grateful for the second chance that he's not entirely sure he deserves. He'll try to convey all these conflicting feelings in his vows and it'll get jumbled. However one look into the kind, gentle eyes of his partner will remind him of the most important thing...love.

11.) Best man’s / maid of honour speech. Is it all sappy and serious, or does it have some humour and sweetness to it? Are they nervous? Are they proud?

Jolene will be both serious and humorous and at one point she'll tell her brother that if he blows this that she will personally knock him out.

12.) How do they do on their first dance? Is it all quiet and romantic or do they just try to have a good time, laughing and dancing through the room?

It will be romantic and fun. Halfway through their first dance together Eli will want invite his parents out to join them. After that everyone else will join them as well.

13.) Do they immediately leave for their honeymoon the day after, or do they push it to perhaps the week after to prepare and just live their life as a newly wed couple? Where is the honeymoon taking place? How long do they stay?

They will be getting married where they intend to honeymoon. They know people there who will keep any papazzi away.

14.) Do they enjoy opening their gifts or do they just ask for money to buy their own things?

Eli loves surprises and gifts so he wouldn't mind receiving some but since they don't really need anything he'll suggest some charities for his fans to donate to once he makes his marriage/wedding known.

15.) How do they wake up every morning after, knowing they’re married to the person they love the most?

He feels very happy and lucky for this chance to have the person in his life again.

16.) When they grow old together, will they reminisce about their wedding day? Perhaps they dig up some old photos to look at. Will they try and see if they still fit into their suits/dresses?

They will certainly remember this day forever and if Eli has his way they might even renew their vows together.

Now the question is will these two lil cuties get this dream wedding or not?

@mahvaladara

[einsteinsugly]

OOC Names, For The Kiddies (According to Me), Eric and Donna:

Girls:

Leia: Should be obvious. Eric fetishizes Leia, not idolizes. End of story. Pound. The. Gavel. T9S's case, promptly and swiftly dismissed.

Cassidy, Cassandra, etc: sounds like Casey.

Purposely misspelled names: Emilee, Allyson, Kaitlynn, Meaghan, etc. It doesn't make your kid unique, and it looks bad on college applications and resumes.

The super-popular trendy '80s/90s names: Ashley, Brittany, Courtney, Tiffany, Whitney, etc.

Any virtue names other than Grace: Faith, Hope, etc. Donna thinks it's sappy and corny.

Boys:

Casey: Should be obvious.

Anything, once again, that's super trendy: Cody, Tyler, Brett, Dustin, etc.

In general: Anything that's too weird. Leia qualifies under this category, too. Eric and Donna don't necessarily instantly gravitate toward popular names, but more classic names (or classic names with a twist, like Caitlin [the Irish form of Katherine] or Megan [the Welsh form of Margaret]). Which often happen to be more popular. They're also likely to name their kids after relatives. Some examples of names they'd like:

Girls: Rachel, Anna, Charlotte, Lucy, Emma, Amanda, Alexandra, Molly, Leah, Katherine, Sophie, Abigail, Hannah, Margaret, Alison, Rebecca, Sarah, Emily, Caitlin, Megan, Amelia, Julia, Nicole

Boys: Robert, Luke/Lucas, Kevin, Caleb, Joshua, Daniel, Noah, Owen, Evan, Colin, Ian, Mark, Alexander, Gavin, Jacob, Connor, Christopher, Nicholas, Aidan, Adam, Gabriel, Eli, Thomas, John, Liam

The middles:

Girls: Erin, Katherine, Margaret, Marie, Jacqueline, Erica (I'm biased, because I like Erin way more)

Boys: Eric, Robert, Steven, Reginald (if things have smoothed out between Eric and Red)

Extra note: I personally avoid Gloria, due to a comment Gloria Steinem made about female Bernie Sanders supporters back in 2016 (where she actually stated that they were there for the boys. I kid you not). Yeah, it wouldn't even remotely be on Donna's radar, because she'd be well into her fifties when Gloria made the comment. But I. Don't. Care. I stand by my present-day knowledge, out of sheer principle.

[cc-tinslebee]

I'm back on my Cobra Kai/Kickin It bullshit, but imagine how interesting a crossover AU between the two would be. (For all intents and purposes, I'm imagining this as the Cobra Kai kids have travelled to Seaford for a karate tournament or something.)

Here me out:

Daniel and Johnny simaltenously respect and detest Rudy. Daniel is like, "inner peace!! yeah!! :D" and respects how much he cares for his kids, but Does Not like how self-centred Rudy can be. Alternatively, Johnny can totally get behind all the movie memorabilia, but is probably like "but he's a nerd :/"

ALSO, imagine the hilarity that would ensue with Phil. Daniel is CONVINCED that Anoush is playing a prank on him, because come on, Phil’s accent and disposition are just... A Lot. I can see the two dojos crossing pathes BECAUSE of this confusion, because you know Rudy would be immeditaely on it like, "hey, that's my emotional support falafel man >:("

KIM AND SAM SOLIDARITY. They're both dating their respective dojo's champions (who, let's be honest, are both dorks) and they have to put up with these stupid boys. They both deserve to talk to another like-minded, experienced karate girl.

I just want Miguel and Jerry to accidentally discover that they both speak Spanish and jestingly talking shit about people in it--

Double fight between Kim/Jack (or Milton/Jerry) and Eli/Demetri,,, We've seen both pairs fighting together as a unit in fights and I think it'd be curious to see who'd win.

Jerry thinks Eli's mohawk is SUPER cool (and possibly is just in AWE if/when Eli calls him "the cool one.") Cool dorks admiring each other for the win.

In addition to that, Demetri and Milton vibe with each other really well. "UGH, it's EXHAUSTING being the only ones with any braincells." (Chris, the person who actually has the group's braincells: 👁👁)

Cobra Kai's also there and they try to recruit the Black Dragons, but they just end up full out brawling each other. Robby got separated from the group sometime before and when he finds out about that he's like, "not aGAIN, GUYS." (Let's be real, Robby's babysitting all of them.)

Eli and a few other people decide to interfere so the Bobby Wasabi dojo doesn't have to go through what they did, and Demetri just acts like the wife of someone going off to war. They're all sappy and he makes Eli assure him that he won't get hurt.

(They smooch and both Milton and Jerry are just like, "that's a thing you can do??" because Disney Channel Heteronormativity.)

Eddie and Aisha are actually there, because I said so. Bonus points if they and Chris just band together being the sweet and loyal kids they are.

Aisha: I’ve only known Eddie and Chris for a day, and if anything happened to them, I would kill everyone at this tournament :)

I haven’t talked about Jack at all, I’ve realised- I think he’d probably vibe fairly well with Miguel, to be honest. Like, they’re both into strong women, are the running champs, and are himbos. What more can I say?

Also the Bobby Wasabi and the Miyagi-Fang kids talking about their trauma ,:) The Wasabi Warriors are just like, “yeah, we regularly have to prevent crimes and were in a spy organisation.” And Miyagi-Fang’s like, “Jesus crisp, okay, you live an exciting life. A lot of us have committed crimes and have trauma as a result of a literal war criminal weaponising children :/” and the Wasabi kids are like, “WHAT??”

This concept just amuses me greatly. Maybe I should actually write a fic?

[fallenrepublick]

I hope this is okay to ask, today is my birthday and was wondering if you have any HCs for how Thrawn, Thrass, Maul, and maybe Eli would celebrate their SO’s birthday? If it’s a weird ask please feel free to ignore

No of course it's not weird! Happy birthday!!!!!

You know, people probably assume that Thrawn would celebrate your birthday in bland ways, brown and black balloons and It Is Your Birthday sign set and ready to go, but I dare to disagree. See, Thrawn is nothing if not meticulous, meaning he is fully prepared to go all out if need be.

Now, he doesn't know much about human birthday celebrations or anything of the sort, but with Eli and Karyn's gracious help, he manages to make things... pretty great, actually. You wake up to the room decorated, everything neatly set up and colour coordinated. There's practically a whole day's menu worth of your favourite foods, from breakfast to dessert, and a list of your favourite activities set in time slots throughout the day. It really is an old-fashioned birthday party, every friend you have present, given the whole day off to celebrate.

And the gifts are where he really shines. They're things the two of you bond over, art pieces you found long ago and loved, yet never had the chance to actually purchase, books and films and the like that you had both discussed and shared. They're all things that you hadn't realised you'd wanted so badly, and yet you're elated to have each one.

Thrass's first move on your birthday is to wake up super extra early and make the most ridiculous breakfast you've ever seen in your life. His questis and comms all off and locked in one of the (many) closets, he's determined to make the day completely and solely about you. No work for either of you and no interruptions. Not even the end of the world would distract him today.

His celebrations are full of intimate things that he knows you love. He takes you out to eat at your favourite restaurants, brings you around to the places you love the most, doing everything in his power to make you smile. And if you're the type who likes staying in on this special day, he's got a whole lineup for that as well, from movie marathons under a fancy blanket fort to waltzing around the living room without a care in the world.

His gifts are often expensive, though they don't always have to be. He focuses most on things you've mentioned wanting before, as well as things related to what he knows you love. He's sentimental and perhaps a bit awkward as he gives it, trying to explain himself with every gift you open, as if he's nervous that you won't like it.

Maul, despite his obvious love for the dramatics, enjoys celebrating your birthday a bit more quietly and intimately, with the day set for just the two of you, or the people you love most.

He's at your side the whole day, rarely leaving you out of his contact, and he wants to make sure you know he's there. He's a bit cocky with it, so certain that what he can do to make you happy is the best thing in the galaxy, as he's just as certain that he knows you better than he knows himself. Everyone is ordered not to disturb wither of you with thoughts of work. If there's an emergency, well, they'll just have to deal with that themselves, now won't they? He does like fancier things, so dinner on the starry balcony is always a must.

His gift ideas usually consist of jewelry and mementos that remind him of moments you've shared. From sparkling necklaces that he admits reminded him of your eyes, to odd trinkets from missions or late night conversations that wouldn't make sense to outsiders, everything is extremely personalized, his focus on you and who you are to him, and how grateful he is that you are here, and you are his.

And Eli, the human with the (eventually) confident, sweet heart, is the master of the classic celebrations.

It's all cake and tacky décor, and going out for dumb little adventures. It's the day to take advantage of an excuse to be a little childish, your time together feeling much like a party you'd have when you were younger with no responsibilities. It's all singing awkward, off-key happy birthday songs, and him goading you into blowing out your candles. He asks what it was you wished for, and when you turn to him and say, "Nothing, because I've got all I need right here,"

He turns his head to avoid your eyes that sparkle when they see his slight flush, replying, "Oh god, don't get all sappy on me..." despite his slight smile at the sound of your laugh.

His gifts are practical, but a cute, fun type of practical. A new datapad with the latest upgrades (as well as a good many games to play to pretend you're working), or books on the best way to fold origami paper airplanes that you can fill Thrawn's office with as a prank one day. Okay, maybe that isn't so practical, but to him it definitely is.

[whitewoodbosca]

it's the most wonderful time of the year [1]

With Elis, Christmas was nothing more than an opportunity to make money - it didn't change even when she went to Hogwarts. After two days of having the castle to herself (and a few students who also stayed back), she was visited by none other than Ash White, who decided that she should come to her house on Christmas.

pairing: ash white (hphm mc)/penny haywood/chiara lobosca, minor elis pames (hpma mc)/cassandra vole/ivy warrington in later chapter

note: yes i'm writing christmas fic in march. also hello people apparently i haven't died yet. this is set in the first year of hpma

The cold was merciless.

“I thought you wizards can teleport or something.” The annoyance in Elis’ voice was muffled by the scarf Ash lent her. She was used to walking more than just a few miles back in the days, but she would never be able to withstand this frozen weather, not when she was still dressed in two thin layers of uniform. In front of her, Ash White did something that vaguely resembled a half-hearted shrug.

“I can Apparate, but that means leaving you behind. The Floo Network at this time of the year is… unstable.” The witch grimaced, before pointing at a house at the end of the road. “That’s our destination, so move your legs quicker.”

Eventually, they reached the porch, dusting snow out of their clothes. As Ash knocked on the door, Elis took her time admiring the neighborhood. It was not too far from the center of London, but the quietness seemed out of place, especially during Christmas.

"Oh, you are back." A woman in her late twenties opened the door for them. Her blonde hair was tied into a neat ponytail, though a few strands managed to escape, brushing against the side of her face and nape. She was beautiful, unbelievably so, especially with the way those blue eyes sparkling full of warmth, compared to Ash who looked more of a grizzly bear wearing a clown mask.

"With our guest." White smiled cheerfully, purposely pushing Elis forwards with one hand behind her back. "Jun isn't home, is she?"

"She said she was going to visit some friends." The woman shrugged, head cocked to one side as she observed her carefully, as if Elis was a stray kitten showing up in front of her house, which was, technically, not wrong. "Now come in, I don't want any of you to catch a cold."

No way Ash lives in this place. That was the first thing popping up in her head the moment she stepped inside - deep yellow walls with flowers patterns, bright wooden furniture, not to mention extremely tidy. The holy smell of fresh baking goods (from the kitchen, she presumed) only made Pames feel like she was home, despite knowing that her actual home was thousands of miles from here.

"Chiara is napping upstairs." The woman led them into the living room, where they could have a nice view of the garden through the large windows. "Apparently there was a tough case yesterday. So whatever you try to do, keep it down, alright?"

"You know I would never disturb our lovely Healer's beauty sleep, right Penny?" Ash replied with a cheeky grin, pulling the woman into a quick kiss, before nodding towards what Elis would guess the kitchen. "Not after she baked those delicious chocolate chip cookies."

"You should thank her later. I told her to rest early, but she insisted on making some since you were coming." Penny gave White a slight nudge to her ribcage as they settled down on the sofa. Actually, it was two of them sitting on the sofa and Elis taking the armchair, not wanting to get in the middle of whatever sappy romance in front of her eyes. She tried to distract herself by focusing on the surroundings. There was a flat-screen TV opposite them, one of the most modern types, and the girl wondered whether it was a way to make the house less suspicious among Muggles. Most of the families she worked for all had a TV, and if she was lucky enough, their children would let her catch a glimpse of those kid-friendly programs or movies with the worst visual effects she had ever seen. A bookshelf was mounted next to it, but the titles were all too small to read. I doubt they would put magical books up there.

"Let me go get some tea and cookies." Her head swirled back to Penny and Ash. "Can you drink green tea, honey?"

Elis could feel her face heat up at the word. It was so obvious that she was not immune to beautiful women referring to her like that.

"Green tea or matcha? People nowadays always mix the two of them up." She pointed out, mentally praying it was the former. The bitterness of it would clear her head up for sure.

"Vietnamese green tea, kid." Ash replied, a smug smirk spreading on her lips. "By the delightful look on your face, I feel like I should have answered matcha."

"No bullying in the house, White." Penny flicked one finger against her temple, before turning to Pames and giving her a reassuring smile. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back soon."

As the blonde woman made her way down the hall, Elis turned to Ash, puzzled and confused.

"You have a wife? I thought she was married to Mrs. Lobosca."

"I don't." She shrugged, leaning back on the sofa as she stretched her arms over her head. "Chiara and Penny got married while I was still busy traveling all over Europe." White explained, her fingers drumming on the arm of the sofa. "I am more of the person who sometimes drops in with food and drinks."

"Sure." Elis thinned her lips, her eyes squinting at the older woman. There were more to the stories, she could feel it, but the last thing she needed was to have another person mad at her for prying at their secrets.

"You said that, but curiosity is showing all over your face." Again, Pames wished Ash could be less observant. White made her feel like the emotionless act she had spent years to perfect was a child's game. "I've made enemies, so putting my name next to them is like giving those bad guys a big, red arrow on where to hurt me most."

"Sounds like it is more about your self-destructing nature." That brought a smile to her face, rather satisfied with Elis' deduction.

"Oh, do elaborate, Miss."

Two can play this game. She took a deep breath, racking her brain for clues. Ten years ago, Ash was in Europe messing things up, and at the same time, Voldemort had his army terrorizing people, which eventually led to the Battle of Hogwarts. An entry in the History book she borrowed from Daniel said that there was a massacre of Voldemort’s subordinates before it, caused by an unknown, powerful being. “It is said that the Ministry of Wizards is still seeking that person nowadays.”

“You made enemies with the Dark Wizards.” Elis clenched her teeth, feeling her hand tremble at the idea. “They are still on your ass for the massacre in early 1998.” She muttered those words in disbelief, gaping at Ash. The 36-wand incident, that was what people called it, because the day after the Battle of Hogwarts ended, someone dumped a bag of 36 wands in front of the Ministry of Magic, all belonging to The Dark Lord’s underlings. Pames used to think people often exaggerate White’s ability, but to do such things… Her body involuntarily shuddered.

“The girl is smart,” Penny emerged into the room, a teapot and some cookies in her hands. The smell of green tea calmed Pames down, though her heart was still beating like a drum, “and she is a first year?”

“Kids nowadays grow faster than us.” Ash took the tray from the woman and put it on the coffee table. She handed Elis a half full mug, ignoring the way her fingers were shaking as they wrapped around it. “Back in first year, I was busy swooning over you and Chiara.”

So apparently her Prefect had three mothers, one was the greatest Healer in England, one was the Wizard World’s golden girl, and one was an Unspeakable who could obliterate an army on her own.

What was she even doing here in their house?

“But I can’t spoil too much.” Ash took a sip of her tea, and Elis mirrored her action, savoring the light bitterness as hot water ran down her stomach. “Gotta wait for Jun to come back, so I can tell the story of that one time she almost blew up the house while trying to find her textbook.”

The idea of Jun Haywood-Lobosca, the grumpiest person in the history of Hogwarts, the Prefect who could talk about rules and manners for days, scrambling on the floor and probably crying certainly made Pames’ eyebrows raise in fascination.

“Well, color me interested, then. Finally have something to add to the tales of Demonic Ravenclaw Prefect.” She laughed, watching the snow falling outside the window. Maybe this Christmas wouldn't be too bad.

[chaos-monkeyy]

State of Chaos

For WIP Wednesday, I thought I’d try something different! So instead of sharing an excerpt from a work in progress, here is a list of the WIPs I’m working on in my too many fandoms at the moment, both published and not; as well as some blathering about other *ideas* I have that I (probably) (maybe) plan (hope) to write at some point. Feel free to ask for more details or ‘vote’ on what I should focus on if you want, I can’t promise anything but I am highly impressionable, and when people get me excited about something there’s a good chance I’ll work on it 😂

(it’s a long post so I’m just putting it all under a cut! There’s mention of kink fics & ships, but I don’t go into any detail about them)

Assassin’s Creed

Diletto (working title) Ezio/Caterina and Ezio/Caterina/Leo, where Caterina wants to be the one to do the fucking, Ezio is more than amenable to this idea, and Leonardo da Vinci makes the world’s first strap-on. First chapter rough draft is written, as well as a few little chunks of chapter 2! Writing F/M fic is always a bit out there for me, but I am very excited about how this one is coming along. 

The skills of Assassins  The Ezio/Mario sexy training one! Three chapters published and while I’ve got several ideas for other chapters, I haven’t started actually writing them yet 🙈 I’m at that point where I need to balance I want more porn with not just getting repetitive… 

Plans  I really want to write some Ezio/Leo smut, got this idea for playful ‘how much can I distract you’ while Leonardo is deciphering one of Ezio’s codex pages (he always bends over the worktable to do it and I just. I can’t not). I also have Thoughts about a couple more kink fics, including a Shaun POV sequel to Not here 😏 And I just, I have to write something with silver fox Revelation’s Ezio. No idea what yet, but god damn he’s sexy. 

The Dresden Files

Nothing really in progress, exactly, though I’ve been kicking around a Dresden/Marcone idea where Marcone hires a Harry look-alike to play out his fantasies of Domming the fuck out of that fucking wizard. (Honestly, there’s so many pairings in TDF that I love the thought of, but just never quite manage to come up with something to write for them… Perhaps I’ll continue my read-through of the series in a search for inspiration.) 

The Expanse

Also nothing actively in progress; I have a couple fic ideas that I still really like the thought of (including a ‘proto-Miller getting freaky with the mind games and double-teaming Holden’ threesome), but I’m not sure if/when I’ll get around to writing any of them. If a new book or season comes out, that might kickstart the interest again.

Midsomer Murders 

A short holiday (working title) Just a standalone PWP / Porn with Feelings for my OG OT3. John, Sarah, and Ben spending a long weekend together in a nicely remote cottage with a hot tub and a fireplace, and having a whole lot of sexy sex and cuddles. Probably featuring needy bottom!John and Sarah demanding some good old-fashioned DP from the two of them. I’ve got some of the start written and I pick at it every now and then when I’m feeling sappy. 

Behind the scenes The companion fic to Falls into place. I still have ideas that I wanted to do, but ever since MM got taken off Netflix, it’s made it harder to write for the show at all and for this little ficlets collection in particular 😭 

Midsomer x Wallace and Gromit crossover  This is a semi-secret project I’ve been working at slowly for over a year now, and a rare non-smutty work 😱 I really like it and do plan to finish it.. someday, but given that it’s an actual fucking story, with no sexy times or shipping, it’s very very out of my comfort zone. So… slow going, to say the least 😅

Plans I really do want to write a werewolf!Jones fic for Bobbit, I just need to figure out what it is exactly that I want to do with it… I also I had a few more ideas for Just Relax (the John dealing with / helping / being there for stress-bunny Ben series), but I have no clue if I’ll ever get around to actually writing them out or not. 

Star Wars

(Come) Ride With Me Got some sexy stuff written out for Chapter 3 (I actually wrote it before even finishing BLJ, it’s what got me writing the damn sequel / companion fic in the first place), but I’m having trouble getting the chapter set-up started. It’ll happen eventually!

Orgy fic That self-indulgent fuckfest I’ve been working at with Jewell for ages, ft. Formbi/Ronan, Ar’alani/Faro, Thrawn/Eli/Nightswan, and Thrass/Everybody. It’s maybe a solid half-done? But damn it’s a lot of POVs to get right and a lot of… bodies and activities to keep track of 😆 (it’s frikken hot though, if I do say so myself)

Sequel to Pinned and Control  I did write out a little tiny chunk for that, and Rev and I have Ideas(TM) for it. I’m still tentatively hopeful they’ll come to fruition someday 😂 experienced young sexpot Eli and older flustered inexperienced Thrawn is just too good to leave dormant forever. 

Plans  Still got a couple more Thrawn/Thrass oneshots I wanna write for the Stripped series. But I know it’s going to make me sad as well as horny if you’ve read Outbound Flight you know why so I haven’t been in just the right mood to actually write them yet. I also really want to write a crack-adjacent Thranto gloryhole fic, a deliciously sacrilegious modern Earth AU with Eli essentially dirty-talking priest!Thrawn in the confessional, a Thrawn/Eli/Thrass ‘he had to marry both brothers’ AU of some kind, a NightThrawn ice to fire sequel, and a part 2 for Consequences. And maybe some Thrawn/Fenn porny oneshots set in the Peace Bearer universe I mean what 😇

The Witcher

Flagrant Indecency Chapter 4 is partially written, and I have basic plans for chapter 5! This is a tough one just cause… yeah. More panic / embarrassment than what I usually write for omo, but I am happy with how it’s coming along. I signed up for Wolfie’s finish your fic fest with this one, so I plan to have ch 4 up in a couple weeks and the fic finish by (…whatever the event deadline is, september I think?) at the latest!

No title yet  I got ambushed the other day by a Geraskier fic idea involving an incubus hunt gone wrong, juiced-up demanding bottom!Geralt, and inappropriate (but consensual) use of Axii. It’s coming along very nicely 😏 chances are good it’ll be the next thing I publish but honestly, I can never be totally sure what the Brain will decide to do.

Plans  There’s a few things I want to get done at some point, including: Geralt discovers Jaskier’s glove kink by accident and they have a lot of fun with that; a sequel to Undignified with more omo thirst trap Jaskier; Geralt’s first time getting fucked / being with a man at all because he walked in on Jaskier and now he’s curious and Jaskier is more than happy to oblige; and possibly one or two sequels to Intoxicating as well because I love my problematic dynamics too much to leave it there. Oh! And maybe a sequel to Tight Fit as well, Jaskier is nothing if not determined 😏

[fistsoflightning]

30: the better path

prompt: splinter || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 1164

Who’s to say which path is better? Who’s to say that without them Zaya would be here today, standing tall with the eternal winds at their back?

5.3 spoilers, oh my god the image is a spoiler. Please remember to tag w/ spoiler tags if you’re reblobbing! This could also be titled “Elie dives fully into their ‘Everyone Lives’ bullshite and drags many WOLs into it in the process” tbh.

Herein I commit the chronicles of the travelers. Shepherds to the stars in the dark.

...

Atalanta was the worst student Emet-Selch had ever been assigned, truth be told.

He was loathe to admit it in passing—hells, not even Lahabrea knew just how bad they were—but now, in this moment, staring at the multifaceted crystals sitting innocently in the cup of his hands as his would-be student scampers out of the Bureau to Asteria’s calls…

Why did I let Elidibus sway me into this, he thinks, rolling the pile of crystals about in his palm. Not horrible; these were the perfect sort of crystal to hold a variety of concepts, and of different colors rather than the white and orange the Convocation apparently decided a long time ago was standard.

But he had asked for a proper concept of theirs, not some piddly crystals. Atalanta was always too jittery of a student—it was almost like they had too much soul in their body, only contented enough to remain still and listen when surrounded by others. Haik was always his first choice to tug along if Atalanta truly couldn’t sit still; he could have done without the sappiness that came with him, but at the very least he did not try to constantly insult him much like Hecate and Lelantos tried to.

If only he’d asked him to keep watch over Atalanta’s assignment.

He sighs—louder this time, and he can’t even be bothered to care if Hermes hears him from his desk—and carefully shifts the pile of shimmering stones about some more until a crystal of sunset gold shuffles its way to the top. Decently sized, but not large enough by any means to hold any concept much bigger than a desk, perhaps.

Sunset gold, he thinks. Like Asteria’s eyes, Melisseus’ bakery, Hemera’s aether in parts.

Emet-Selch finds himself with a smile, even frustrated as he is with his student’s chaotic attempt to please him once more. Perhaps he can at least get some use out of these.

...

Though the world be sundered and our souls set adrift…

…

He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he worked on the crystals that now sit idly on a desk in his Amaurot. Whittled them down to shape, not knowing enough of Atalanta’s spontaneous creation habits to unweave the aether and expect them to come out the same crystal and color, and carved sigils into them by hand. Azem’s crystal, ever sunset gold, sits atop the pile, gleaming bright in the teal glow that manages to permeate even the sunless veil of the sea and into the building which he now stands. 

Under it, he can see six other familiar sigils, eyes wandering to the one of sapphire blue he buried beneath the rest in his aching.

(Stay home, he remembers telling them. Stay home with Haik today. Just today.)

He quietly walks to the table, eyeing the pile with the crystals he was expected to hand over to Elidibus by the next turn of the sun, wherever he was. The damned moon, probably. Strange man.

(Why? Atalanta looks to him curiously, fluffy locks falling over their eyes, shimmering like the night from afar. There something I shouldn’t be around to hear?)

Something in him keeps him from pouring his aether into the memory crystals and erasing it—surely destroying the last reminders of those he cherished would make their memory fade. Surely he would no longer be haunted by their shades in his waking moments, scheming for their return even as they looked down upon him for it.

(The Convocation has a meeting today, he says calmly. A difficult one; that was not a lie.)

Instead, his hand grasps the seven crystals and tucks them neatly into the pocket lined into his little coat, securing them safely against his heart.

(I do not wish for you to hear how the world is ending, he does not say. Your lightning bright spirit would sputter out if you knew your days were numbered.

And as much as he tried not to get attached to his worst student, he couldn’t.)

...

...where you walk, my friends, fate shall surely follow.

...

Since Temulun Khatun had given them their name, Zaya had wondered how hard it was to escape fate if your name was ‘fate’ itself.

Perhaps it truly was impossible—fate wasn’t something Zaya could tear apart with their hands, after all. The world had always been known to be wicked in its ways, weaving new paths for every change rewritten into the stars; if Zaya did not almost die in Ul’dah’s banquet they would nearly fall to Shinryu’s claw, if they did not tell their feelings in full when they could have they would have come out eventually with the interference of one certain lovely branch. 

But on the seafloor of the Tempest, in the walkways of a fading city with a sapphire blue crystal in hand that whispered the same things that Valor did, sometimes, Zaya couldn’t help but think of the times that fate was, perhaps, on their side.

Without Tehra’ir’s intuition and sharp thinking with his sister by his side, Zaya would surely have died to Ilberd’s scheming hands, filled with poison and malice as he threw them into a cart meant for the dead. Without Syhrwyda’s quick hand and taste for primal’s aether, there would have been no Demi-Shiva, no opening for Ysayle to be saved from her choice of death to lead them ever heavensward.

Without Duscha and A’dewah, maybe Papalymo would have disappeared for them just as Louisoix did for them at Carteneau; without Lumelle and Elwin, Ishgard surely would have shunned them for their scales, dark as night and as tough as Dravanians. Without Valdis, would they have even left the streets of Pearl Lane the same, not knowing just how many were out there like them, struggling in a jewel not made for them?

(Without any of them, would Zaya be standing here, in the streets of Emet-Selch’s grief, staring up through that sunless veil and wondering what tomorrow would bring?)

Of course you would, their shadow whispers next to their horn, crystal clear and sharp around the edges where they were once soft-spoken; an after-effect of Minfilia’s last gift to them, surely. Just not the same as you are now, perhaps.

“Zaya?” Tehra’ir calls to them, standing hardly a few yalms away with Lunya looking back by his feet, Hanami and Reese stopped a step or so ahead. “Ye alright there? Yer lookin’ a tad wistful now; don’t tell me yer—”

They immediately raise their hands to deny any sort of sentimentality for Emet-Selch’s city; the spires may be tall and beautiful, but it is a bygone place. A landmark of grief and naught else.

(And yet, and yet, their shadow lingers a moment more when they step in time with their trusted friends and most precious allies. Lingers, then fades, time slipping through their fingers as Zaya walks further and further away.)

[mull3ts]

Ok errbody,  it's the peachy family's or neocrackheads group chat's 2nd month anniversary 🍷✨

*insert wine glass clinking coz fuck it*

Peachy family in a nutshell 🍑:

We’re all just Pokemon that type like  t h i s 

LETTUCE BEGIN!

@nct127grass | GRACE! 😎

Oh lord- OK SO gracie sweetie ✨ hello :D aH yEs the first person to litterally type

"hey fam 😎" with that exact emoji

Grace, you've lingered on my blog for a while honestly ahEm ik what u be doin to the point where I can say: I've known abt your existence before the gc. You've honestly made me feel like I'm in middle school again saying "fam" and "dope" so congrats ✨. anYwhOdLeZ you're vv nice and could be one of the nicest people I've ever met 👀. You're always vv supportive and understanding so I thank you for that 🤧 I dAre to say that sometimes, you're like the internet sister i've always wanted 👁💧👄💧👁.

What remindes me of grace: earrings, plushies, sharkies, smuts, more importantly my smuts 😏, asks, anons, cute goth lolita kinda things, bangchan from straykids dont ask, wedding rings

☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹

@sunflowerhae | GWEN! 👼🏻

Hai gwennie :D The time we evolved from ot4 to ot5, thank you for being our pokemon evolution 🤧💫

Gwennnnnn, you just keep it real 💅🏻. The owner of the "👼🏻" emoji 😔✋. Gwen legit, I love you death. (boop period.) (but i wuv all of you to death so,,, 😌). You're the only calm-ish one. And I also feel like you're if not ooper then kinda adventurous with your collabs and ✨jazz✨. And I vibe 🤧. I shant forget when the group chat was so heated on everyone's face 😌. In a summary: I wuv you gwendolyn.

Gwen thingz: tarot cards, the sun, the movie lolita, bright ass crayons, sunflowers, zenon the movie, yellow pencils

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@nanajaems0308 | JUJU!

Part one out of two for accepting them into the gc coz you think your kids know them 😌

Juju, hello :D. You were actually the first person that I talked to oUt of the gc, as in, sending eachother asks but them bAm we got discord 🔥. I've probably had the weirdest convos w you so thanks for accepting my "crackhead nature". and you're sucessfully my bro's favourite niece so congrats ✨ AND WE'VE TALKED AT WINX CLUB AND THE BARBIE MOVIES 😌✋ I FUCKING STAN. pLus you're on your way to becoming a comedic legend 😎 so in a summary: juju you're vv easy to talk to and you're ooper nice and i will deck any dood or woman or anYOne that tries to come @ you

Juju TiNgZ: my laptop 👁👄👁, my lotion 👁👄👁, haircombs, jaemin, seventeen's dino wtf ik , hulahoops, strawberries, the color teal or turquoise

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@kunswifegwen | GWEN/GGTRJ!

Part 2 out of 2 of accepting hoomans into the gc coz you assumes your kids knew them so you added them

GGTRJ HIIIII HOE~sOO idk if you count as my child or in law, but I'll count you as an in law just incase gwen and grace wanna adopt you 👀. anywaySSSsSsSs I distinctly remember having kinda of a awkward convo w you in the gc coz there was just a bunch of exchanges of "fam" and mOviNg oN. I'd be down to virtualy sip wine with you anyway fam 😎 you just give me those "clink clink bitch" sorta vibes. You've only been in the gc for like a month but whatever, wuv ya.

ggtrj tinGz: dilf jeno, pewdiepie, frogs, Lionel Richie, the titanic, Versace, that one juul ad i always see on tiktok, dinosaurs

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@huangvibez | Zainab

oMG hi! Lmao im sorry anywOdLez *iNhALe* an ot4 member 👁💧👄💧👁 hol up im switching tomy laptop coz tumblr's being wonky

oK IM NOW GOING TO MAKE THINGS SHORT SWEET N KINDA SAPPY

HAI ZAINAB you’re vv easy to talk to and I vibe w it. A moment I remember the most abt you is when I told you that Robert Paterson would yell at me if his ketchup packet was 1.4 ounces instead of 1 ounce and when you wanted to see a vampire fic and I told you I had a Jeno one and it still lays in my drafts to this day. Yeehaw wuv ya <3

Zainab tinGz: Zayn Malik idk, big time rush, blue pens, renjun’s shoulders, grapes, hello kitty lunch boxes, soccos, lemons and socks.

@bbjisungg​ | CISSY!

☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹☻☹

oK sO,,,,we honestly don’t talk much but lEgiT i really don’t care tho coz I still wuv you thy talented child :D

cissy tiNgZ: grass, trees, basically pLants, bunnies, glitter, the we go up era, gummy bears

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@bbyyangiex2​ | ELIE! 🍄

O heY elie :D sO Imma start off by saying that honestly,,,,you’d be gr8 friends with npc me 😌. She’s like me but only 4 months older than you 🤩. Anywhodlez let’s gOoOooOoo 

oK so elie, you’re vv talented likE IDC WHAT OTHER HOOMANS SAY BUT I THINK YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING. Like stop stfu- yOu cAnt cHangE mY minD eLiE yOure dOpe. Anywhodlez, I remember that one time although idk if you’d know but whAtEvEr. When we were dropping pics of ourselves and you suggested that i was like one of those ullzangs? idk, but then I got a pic of one and you didn’t question in so i was kinda sitting there like 👁👄👁 and proceeded to laugh my bOOty off. Dw tho, I still wuv ya sweetie, I wouldn’t question it either tbh ;-;

Elie tiNgZ: WayV, toenails, sprite, boba, matcha boba, any boba, eyeliner, the middle finger, roller skates, Yangyang, orange juice?, a kid that’s able to hold a convo with me even when you pee (if you know you know)

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OK SO mkAy peachy family! Hi it’s just mEeeeEeEeEe so in a summary I wuv you all...alot 💖💖💖

sincerely,

abi your resident milf <3 

[choupichoups]

Eliott falls helplessly infatuated with his best friend’s little brother— he knows he’s writing up his own death wish going after this boy, but fuck if Lucas isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Or: Eliott’s under the impression that his best friend’s new step brother, ‘Lulu’, is a literal baby. Nobody tells him the guy’s actually a fucking babe-y.

The first big party of the semester is always a hit— people hooking up left and right with no hope of remembering any names come the morning light. At this point of the year, nobody gives much of a fuck about anything. Much less the first years, who’ve all got the same reinvent myself mentality that would either lift or destroy them in the long run.

Eliott is in his fifth semester already. He doesn’t give much of a fuck at any point in time.

A girl with burnt whiskey eyes catches his gaze while sauntering past, long dark hair falling in soft waves down her back. Her face is quite lovely in the midst of the sweaty heaps of bodies wriggling on the makeshift dance floor and Eliott smiles, eyes dark with challenge, but his feet don’t move from their spot.  

“Already scouting the first years, I see.”

Eliott turns towards the voice, only mildly irritated by the interruption. “You know how it is.”

“Uh huh,” Adrien chuckles into his bottle, taking a long sip from his beer before pointing out a nervous looking boy by the speakers. “Thought that was more of your type?” The boy is tall, not as much as Eliott but enough to make him noticeable. His features are rounded and his carefully styled hair is just begging for searching hands to muss it up. If Eliott’s a little less sober than he currently is, then maybe he can settle for it.

But alas.

“I don’t have a type,” Eliott says, eyes casting around for the girl with the nice hair. “Last time was a fluke.” Benjamin had been the resident know it all in his literature class; cute but talked too much, argued too much, stressed out too much. Eliott had done him a favour with that fling last year— no, really, Benjamin's still one of his most pleasant break ups to happen that year. Maybe even of all time. They still text sometimes and all.

“You’re the worst,” Adrien snorts.

“Aw, don’t be jealous, someone’s bound to kiss you before we graduate, you’ll see.” It’s not long before he gives up looking for the girl, mostly because he’s already half forgotten what she looks like and he can’t be bothered to put more effort into the search.

“Oh fuck off, I got game.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Eliott smiles, laughing as he dodges Adrien’s swing at his head. It’s an easy feat— the alcohol has made his best friend quite slow.

“Shut up!” Adrien frowns, but doesn’t try for another swipe. “Oh, I’ve got someone I wanna introduce to you, actually.” He starts looking out into the crowd but a displeased pout is quick to form over his lips when he can’t seem find the person he’s looking for.

“Someone cute?” Eliott teases, grinning when he dodges a kick to his shin. “Geez, no need for violence.”

“No fucking kidding, man, stay away from this one.”

“Then what’s the point of introducing us?”

“You’re hopeless, you know that? When will you stop looking at people as things to play with? That’s gotta be tiring, man.”

Eliott shrugs, immune to each and every one of Adrien’s righteous spiels. He doesn’t take offence to it, used to the lack of filter that comes with the copious amount of alcohol consumed.

Adrien eventually gives up on searching the crowd. Granted, sticking his head out in one direction or another like some confused imitation of a mother goose isn’t exactly the best way to find someone in a jam-packed apartment but Eliott isn’t about to call him out on it.

“Where are the others?” he asks instead.

Adrien nods towards the backyard. “Out back.”

“Cool, you coming?”

“Nah, I have to look for someone, catch ya later.” 

Making his way through the crowd is quite an interesting challenge. Eliott allows some wandering hands to pull him close, hoping that one of them would be enough to snap him out of this drudging atmosphere. But he quickly grows tired of that game— no amount of drunken grinding and senseless conversations tempt him stay.

Boring. Everything’s so fucking boring.

“Eliott!” His idiot friends cheer once he gets outside, getting a genuine laugh to pass through his lips. Idriss has his arms held out for a hug but Eliott very intentionally walks a giant circle around him, sitting next to Sofiane instead. Idriss flips him off.

“Having fun?” He nudges shoulders with a hunched up Sofiane, who blinks at him as if he doesn’t hear a word Eliott says. “Enjoying the party?” he repeats with a fond chuckle.

“Oh! Yeah, uh,” Sofiane hums, glancing back down at his phone. It lights up with a text from Imane. “It’s okay, I guess.”

Eliott rolls his eyes and leaves him to his pining. Sofiane gets extra sappy during the late hours of the night and he doesn’t even need the help of alcohol to get there; the fact that he doesn’t drink is probably a blessing for those around him.

He gets up to borrow a lighter from one of Idriss’ friends — Eliott can’t remember the guy’s name for the life of him — and pulls out the joint he’d been saving for much, much later into the party, but desperate times, desperate measures, etcetera etcetera.

“Eli, can you get us some more drinks, please?” Idriss calls out from where he’s slouched into a lawn chair, looking like he needs a nap and a huge bottle of water more than anything else.

“You sure?” Eliott surveys the piles of empty beer cans and bottles littering the ground. The amount is just a tad bit worrying but nobody else seems to be in a panic about it so Eliott lets it be. There must be a reason behind it and he’s also not about to act like any of their mothers.

“Super sure!”

He goes back inside with a shrug, unlit joint and lighter slipping back into his pockets. It’s not like the backyard company is any more stimulating than the ones inside. For god’s sake, he’s bored out of his goddamn mind. He might as well just go home and watch Animal Planet at this point. It’d probably bring about the same amount of joy as he’s feeling right now. Except he’d have the privilege of being in his pyjamas.

The fridge is empty of anything but cases upon cases of beer. Eliott turns each pack over, wincing at the brands. Even the alcohol is boring, fuck.  

“Top left cupboard.”

And alright, nobody can blame him for the little jump he does at the sound of that voice— he swears the kitchen was empty when he’d entered it.

Eliott whirls around to face the person who’d tried to give him a heart attack, prepared to bite back with a slightly snappy response only to find himself face to face with cutting cheekbones and full lips curled into the most adorable of smiles. The boy’s hair is a divine mess, falling over large eyes as blue as the deepest waters of the sea.  

Holy shit, he’s beautiful.

Eliott kicks the fridge shut, all thoughts of alcohol wiped from his mind. “What?”

The boy tilts his head. Cute, Eliott’s mind supplies.

“They’re hiding the good beer inside the top left cupboard,” the boy elaborates, legs swinging back and forth from where he’s perched up on one of the kitchen counters. Eliott’s eyes follow the movement, wondering how long it would take for him to get those very same legs wrapped around his waist. Preferably sometime soon. Behind closed doors. Sometime tonight, actually. Eliott isn’t made for waiting.

“And you know that how?”

“I’ve been in here for too long, apparently.” The boy shrugs, offering another tiny smile before he drops his eyes back down to his phone.

No, that won’t do. Eliott wants this boy’s attention all to himself. So he steps closer, wiping a hand over his lips as he thinks of which guns to pull.

But before he can make his move, another boy enters the kitchen with frantic hands waving in the air, heading straight for the space in front of Eliott’s boy without so much as a glance around. There’s a small, crooked joint sitting in between the newcomer’s fingers and from what Eliott can catch of his rambling, he’s gloating about scoring it for cheap.

“What?” His boy asks, sounding amused. “Slow down, Bas, I literally can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Eliott comes up behind the guy — Bas? — and picks the joint out of his grip, easy as stealing candy from a child.

“Hey!” Bas yelps, eyebrows furrowed as he turns around to puff up at his offender. Eliott almost laughs when Bas’ expression melts into half fear half wonder at the sight of Eliott hovering over them.

“You got tricked,” Eliott says, inspecting the poorly rolled mess in his hand. “This thing is shit. Whoever gave you this tried to pull a fast one.”

Bas squawks, mumbling equal amounts of gratitude and colourful curses as he takes the joint back from Eliott and rushes out of the kitchen, presumably to give his dealer a piece of his mind.

“Was that true?” His boy asks, and Eliott finds that he enjoys the playful glint in those pretty, blue eyes a little too much.

Just as playfully, he responds with a raise of an eyebrow. “Of course,” he says, digging his joint and the borrowed lighter out of his pockets. He wiggles it in between the two of them until a wide smile breaks out from the boy’s tantalizing bite over his lips. “I’m Eliott.”

“Lucas.”

Lucas, he repeats in the safe privacy of his mind. It’s only fitting— a pretty name for a pretty boy. He wonders how it feels for that name to roll off his tongue.

Eliott brings the joint to his lips, not once looking away from the staring match he and Lucas have unwittingly started. Lucas is the one to break first, glancing down at the darkened screen of his phone and then away to the side where a suspicious looking stain is splattered on the wall.

Wordlessly, Eliott flicks his thumb over the lighter and lets the smoke fill his lungs, the familiar sensation rolling over him as he thinks of the most delicate way to ask if Lucas is interested in examining the walls of Eliott’s bedroom instead.

“So what, are you some sort of weed master, Eliott?”

Eyes closed, Eliott chuckles, slowly inching in as he whispers, “No, I just know the good stuff.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.” He takes another hit, head turned slightly to the left as he exhales. They’re close enough that blowing the smoke right in front of Lucas would be considered nothing short of suggestive and while Eliott plans to do exactly that, he needs a bit more reassurance that Lucas is as on board with this as he is.  

And Lucas, bless his tempting little self, has that plush bottom lip trapped in between his teeth when Eliott glances back at him. “Not unless you share,” Lucas mumbles, looking up at Eliott from below his lashes. Eliott’s sure Lucas has got to be aware of what he’s doing. There’s no way any of this is done out of oblivion.

“I’m afraid you can’t handle it.” Eliott grins, daring himself to step even closer. A giddy part of him cheers when Lucas opens his legs wider to allow Eliott a space in between.

“You don’t think I can handle a little smoking?” Lucas leans back the slightest bit, balancing on the balls of his palms placed behind himself on the counter.

Eliott recovers the distance with a simple tilt of his head. “No,” he says, pleased when Lucas makes no other move to back off. “Something else.”

“Oh yeah?” The question is a whisper that sends heat coursing along Eliott’s bloodstream, which is ridiculous. Lucas hasn’t done anything but speak. “What then?”

Eliott brings the joint back to his mouth, taking a deep hit as he reaches over and presses a thumb over Lucas’ petal soft lips, almost groaning out loud when the boy opens up with ease, pliant under Eliott’s touch.

Their noses brush gently as Eliott aligns their mouths, lips parting to blow the smoke into Lucas’ waiting ones. He watches with hooded eyes the way Lucas’ own pair slide shut, breathing soundlessly as he takes in everything Eliott gives.

Magnetized by the alluring sight, Eliott falls forward, fully intending to close what’s left of the distance between them.

Unfortunately for him, Lucas has other plans. Their upper lips have barely grazed each other before Lucas tilts his head up, away from the loose touch of Eliott’s thumb. But with the distance as small as it is, Lucas’ mouth drags along Eliott’s own when he moves— a provocative hint of the taste Eliott’s been quite cruelly deprived of.

Stunned, Eliott can only nuzzle into the underside of Lucas’ chin, laughing in disbelief as this infuriating boy exhales the smoke up at the ceiling.

He feels Lucas’ body move soon after and Eliott shivers at the feeling of cool hands landing on the back of his neck. Lucas is smiling when Eliott straightens back up, looking equal parts endearing and dangerous. His fingers slide up the length of Eliott’s jaw, up behind his ears, and into the hair at the back of his head, scratching down until they land right back on his nape. The tips of his fingers have dipped into the neck of Eliott’s shirt, electrifying the small span of skin he touches.

Forcefully clearing the haze from his brain, Eliott goes in for another try, only for Lucas to curl up so that Eliott’s lips land on his forehead instead. Lucas’ laugh is a warm huff of breath over his collarbone and it feels like a cheeky apology, one that Eliott’s quick to accept with a chuckle of his own. 

Eliott can’t believe he’s getting so worked up over some boy who denies him kisses and makes it up to him with fleeting, barely there touches. His friends would be rolling on the floor if they see him now.

But it doesn’t matter, because Lucas is so fucking hot and Eliott wants him so fucking bad.

He doesn’t notice the joint being taken from his hand until Lucas has lifted it to his own mouth. Eliott is mesmerized as he watches Lucas’ tongue dart out to wet his lips before taking a hit, cheeks hollowing from the initial inhale. Eliott’s head isn’t constantly in the gutter, mind you, but Lucas isn’t leaving him with much of a choice over here.

Both hands now free, Eliott intends to take back his control over the situation, but Lucas lifts his arms, landing warm and light over Eliott’s shoulders, twining around his neck, and Eliott finds himself dazed all over. His hands are loosely gripping the back of Lucas’ knees, and they’d maybe give an illusion of a purpose if Eliott isn’t so acutely focused on figuring out how to kiss Lucas before he dies from all the teasing.

Lucas shuffles invitingly close and blows the smoke into the corner of Eliott’s slightly parted lips. Eliott can feel the heat from the joint behind his head where Lucas’ arms are still curled. Or maybe that’s just the heat from Lucas’ body. He doesn’t know, Eliott can’t tell shit apart at this point. All he knows is that there’s a warmth everywhere as he exhales, watching clouds of smoke mingle in the air below the fluorescent kitchen lights.

He’s just about regained control over his own limbs, hands starting to tighten around Lucas, just about ready to fucking carry him straight into a bedroom— it doesn’t even have to be Eliott’s bedroom, he doesn’t mind, when all of a sudden he’s cold all over. All traces of warmth is gone from his arms and he looks down just in time to see Lucas somehow sliding smoothly off the counter and then hopping towards the living room in one quick movement.

“Thanks, Eliott,” Lucas pipes up, looking back at Eliott over his shoulder. His grin is wide and buoyant, looking way too pleased with himself. Eliott feels like he should be offended about something but he’s having trouble keeping up as it is.

What the fuck just happened?

He stands in the kitchen, staring blankly at the counter as he replays the last couple of minutes in his head— because that’s all it's been. No matter how much his brain is dramatically insisting that an entire lifetime has passed since the whirlwind that is Lucas, it truly only has been a couple of minutes since they’ve met.

His feet take him out of the kitchen before his brain follows the movement. It also belatedly registers that the dumb smile that’s stuck on his face won’t go away any time soon.

Friends and acquaintances alike find him wandering the place with his eyes lifted far, their attempts at conversation politely cut short as he searches above everyone’s heads for the only face he wants to see.

It takes Eliott a full hour to understand that Lucas has stolen his joint.

His mystery boy has vanished into thin air. Eliott can’t find him anywhere, which doesn’t even make sense. It’s not like the apartment is massive or anything. But the crowd is gradually thinning out, those with sense still left in them are heading out to better prepare themselves for the torture that is the coming week ahead and—

Ah. There he is.

Eliott spots him beside the balcony doors, flanked between two girls who seem to be in a deep, animated discussion with him.

“Yo, Eliott, we’re leaving.” Someone calls out from behind him and Eliott thinks that’s Sofiane. He’s the only one always sober enough to relay proper information between their group.

The only response he can muster is a distracted hum, but he does twist around to spare a quick glance at Idriss, who’s now laughing way too loud at everything he sees around him. Nothing particularly entertaining is going on so Eliott assumes it really is about time for Idriss to make his leave.

Eliott rolls his eyes, sharing an exasperated glance with Sofiane as he watches the poor boy try to talk Idriss out of sitting in with the giant game of truth or dare in the dining room. Luckily enough, Adrien checks in on them soon after. For whatever reason, he’s the only one Idriss listens to whenever the latter is drunk out of his mind. The trio exchange quick, silent looks between themselves before an amused Adrien finally convinces Idriss to make his merry way back to the front door.

A commotion by the balcony steals Eliott’s attention away from his stumbling friends, and he looks back to where he’s last seen Lucas just in time to watch the latter laugh at some guy who looks like he’s spilled an entire can of beer down his shirt. The music’s too loud for Eliott to hear the sound of it but his own lips twitch at the mere sight either way.

He doesn’t realize Sofiane’s snuck up behind him, following Eliott’s line of vision, until he hears an incredulous, “Oh no, Eliott. I wouldn’t go for that one.”

Eliott has to peel his eyes off of Lucas’ radiant smile. “Huh?”

Sofiane eyes him dubiously. “You’re looking at the boy in the gray hoodie, right?”

“Uh.” Apparently his non-answer is enough. Sofiane reaches for his shoulders and starts shaking him quite violently. Eliott gathers his wits about him and brushes the offending hands away from his person. “Why not?” he complains, aware that he sounds like a scolded pre-schooler.

“Bro, that’s Lucas,” Sofiane says urgently and, well, yes? Eliott wants to voice out his thoughts but Sofiane’s looking at him like there’s some kind of revelation to be had. Whatever it is goes way past over Eliott’s head.

“And?” Eliott drags the word out, frown deepening when Sofiane’s expression pinches strangely, like he isn’t sure whether to fuss over worrying or just outright laugh. It’s a face Eliott’s grown very familiar with.

“Adrien’s Lucas?”

Eliott remains staring at him incomprehensibly.

Sofiane’s starting to look a bit constipated. “You know… his precious Lulu? That’s him.”

Oh.

“That’s Adrien’s little brother.”

Oh fuck.

[fandom-necromancer]

697. The moon is high tonight, it frames you well.

Another prompt by the perfect @smolandangry001! It’s a bit longer than the usual short but hey, I had a bit more time today and it was fun writing! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

There was no way this was going to work. Gavin looked over to the android standing in front of the printer and staring at it as if it had offended him and the whole of androidkind by requesting magenta for a black and white print. The thing was rightfully terrifying and while he didn’t mind that, it was difficult to imagine them playing the happy, love-drunk couple their killer would fall for.

It was one of the worse cases. Some idiot was determined that humans and androids shouldn’t be allowed to live together and love each other, deciding the best way to push his opinion was by killing them. There were already couples that feared being out in public together or broke up completely to stay safe. And while Gavin couldn’t care less about less people smooching each other in parks, this was so clearly wrong, even more gruesome than the “normal” serial killer in his eyes. It was out of question that asshole had to be stopped. But the how was something he would rather not think about at all: Connor had come up with the grand idea they would simply pose as a couple to bait the killer. And there really wasn’t a good reason to disagree with the plan except to maybe tell them- No. Never. Don’t even think about it!

‘So… Any plans on how to do this?’, Gavin asked, trying to hide that blush that was starting to creep up his cheeks. Nines sat down, slapping the pages on the desk after hacking the printer. He supposed that had to be at least a violation of some law but didn’t care enough to start a fight. ‘Of course, detective.’, he answered, cocking a brow. ‘I believe the humans call it “fake dating”.’ ‘Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Any idea how to do that?’ ‘Tonight. Seven p.m. Blue Iridescence. Dress accordingly.’ ‘What?’ ‘You heard me.’ ‘No way, I’m not paying that much for a fucking investigation!’ ‘87% of all android-human couples have at least one date in this restaurant as it is one of the openly android-friendly establishment considering we don’t eat. It is likely the killer is present considering all victims had been killed shortly after eating there.’ ‘Damn, if I’m broke at the end of the month because of this, I blame you!’

Gavin had picked up his best clothing – a suit from when Eli had made the first robot to pass the Turing-test. Came to think of it, this had been the last time he had worn it, too. Well, he wasn’t the fancy type after all and from all the people he had dated until now, he probably had the best fashion sense still. Thankfully it still fit, it was even weirdly comfortable. He took extra time to wash and brush his hair, trying to make everything work together. But when he looked into the mirror, he just looked… foreign to himself. In a final thought he unpacked the cologne Eli had gifted him one Christmas years ago. It probably cost more than his car, but well, there wouldn’t be a better occasion to use it, he mused.

Kissing goodbye his cat he walked down to his car and funnily enough thought about calling an automated vehicle. But he brushed it off and sat behind the wheel. He was still him and he loved that old thing with all his knacks. He might wear a suit, but that didn’t change him. True to that, Nines snarled at him pulling up in the Blue Iridescence’s parking lot. The expression vanished when he exited the car and patted down the light jacket. Gavin swore that LED changed to yellow for a millisecond there and grinned. ‘What? Didn’t thought I had expensive stuff?’ ‘It’s good to see you heeded my call and dressed for the occasion.’ Had that just been the android equivalent of telling him he looked nice? Gavin felt his cheeks heating up again and walked up to the entrance instead of answering. ‘Shall we go in, then?’

Nines looked good, too. He had exchanged the Cyberlife-jacket for a long black coat, fitting perfectly with black dress pants, polished shoes and a spot of colour added by a thirium-blue scarf. Although there was the stupid turtleneck underneath, Gavin couldn’t say anything bad about the droid’s appearance. Quite the opposite was true. They entered, Nines dropping the scarf and coat to stack it neatly away in an offered cupboard and waiting to take Gavin’s jacket too. Caught off-guard Gavin scrambled to take it off and hand it over, as they were saved by a waiter to show them to their table. Finally, Gavin got his head out of his ass enough to return the compliment: ‘You look fine, too, toa- Nines.’

Damn, come on, Gavin, this is an investigation, dumbass. Play your role! But before they could get on with any of the fake-couple talk, they were both given cards, quite useless for Nines, but he accepted it politely, pretending to look into it, while Gavin suppressed a ‘Holy shit’ as he looked at the prizes. Nines shifted one hand on the menu and showed him his palm discretely. Take anything. The DPD covers the expenses, it’s an investigation after all. Now, that was something Gavin liked to hear, and he grinned like the asshole he was underneath the layers of fancy he wore today. They ordered their horribly overprized meals. Nines could even be persuaded into trying something thirium-based they desperately tried to push on the market now to get the most of their new fellow citizens.

Then they waited and Gavin still wrestled with the horrifying thought they would have to actually have a conversation now that didn’t involve work. It was becoming even more terrifying as Nines looked at him in a way he sure as hell shouldn’t. He had leaned forwards, head gently resting on an elbow and the other hand toying with the tablecloth. But these eyes. Fuck, the idiot hadn’t watched some romance flicks in preparation, had he? And shit, Gavin couldn’t even do anything against it without blowing their cover. ‘I’m so happy you agreed to this’, the android told him in the worst, most sappy and love-sick voice imaginable. ‘I’ve been waiting months to finally go out with you.’ Fuck, this was a blush he couldn’t hide, why body, why? ‘Yeah, me too.’ That earned him a sharp kick under the table and wincing Gavin added: ‘But work got in the way the last few times, I’m sorry… my love.’ Oh god, that was awful, Gavin hoped to get his food soon and be able to keep it down once eaten.

Nines was smiling and it was borderline creepy knowing the reserved android at work. ‘How are the cats?’ Oh thank phck the android threw him a bone. ‘Good, actually.’ Wait, when had he told the tin-can he had… ‘They are dipshhhh’ He coughed. His normal self probably wasn’t appropriate here… ‘tipsy as always. Have I told you of the time she tried to jump on the couch but didn’t make it and fell, looking confused as ph- looking really confused?’ Oh thank god, he could talk about his cats for hours and could at least focus on something else than the damn tin-can giving him the most obvious heart-eyes in history until he was interrupted by the waiter bringing them their food. Well Gavin his food and Nines a weird blue mush that looked like a science experiment crossbreeding mashed potatoes and jello gone horribly wrong. But, because this was a fancy restaurant, it was decorated with all sorts of stuff that wasn’t edible for both humans and androids. It was the first time that evening that the real Nines resurfaced as he looked at the “food” as if this had been a personal offense. But nonetheless he took a bite and it seemed to surprise him.

He looked back up to him, and there was this horrible smile again. The android exploited the fact that he was occupied with chewing and eating and continued talking. ‘That’s what I love about you. You are so passionate!’ It took all his will and luck to not choke on the bit and he believed to be just as red as his phcking tomato-sauce. But oh damn, this was the prelude to one of these cutesy back-and-forths, wasn’t it? He struggled for words and hid it under chewing and swallowing. Then he set up a smile by himself and leaned in, too. ‘Aw come on, babe, there’s nothing I’m more passionate about than you.’ Oh god, this was torture. Let Nines take over, damn, just play along. He wouldn’t even say stuff like this would he really have a mad crush on the android, which he had not! Definitely not. Just normal colleagues, yes. Now continue eating.

He wanted to reach for a tissue, but Nines had other plans. Quicker than he could see, the android had covered his hand with his own and Gavin froze, locking eyes with him and putting his most hateful stare in it he could conjure. Except wow, this was actually not that bad. No sweat, just the texture and consistency of normal skin. Until the damn tin-can took it a step further and retracted it. Immediately it changed to a cold contact, but not unpleasant and damn, Gavin could get accustomed to that- No! No, this was just for a case, Gavin remember.

Gavin managed to concentrate on the food, playing along to Nines who took over the evening, praising him and talking about normal-people’s banter, peppering it with affectionate gestures wherever possible. And Gavin managed to never flinch away. By the time they got to dessert, he had adapted and a few parts of him had stopped screaming at him. It was a nice evening, all things considered. Good food - good free food - a nice ambience and hell, although none of his fantasies with Nines involved eating at a restaurant, this sure was pleasant.

The android had even gotten a laugh out of him. Damn, Gavin really had lost his internal battle. Hopefully Nines didn’t notice he wasn’t just playing his role here. As they were finally finished, Nines paid by interfacing with the android waiter and helped Gavin up, his hand loosely remaining on his hip on their way out. He even helped him into his jacket before putting on his own clothes and tied his scarf around Gavin’s neck. The hell? But Gavin wasn’t really able to protest. Not only because this was still an investigation, the food added with a few glasses of light alcohol had made him sluggish and warm, feeling content all over.

Nines stayed close and led him away from the parking lot. ‘Hey, Nines, my car’s there, shouldn’t we take…’ ‘Let’s go for a walk, Gav. I heard it is good for a human’s digestion. Also, I have my own reasons’, he added with a smirk. ‘And they would be?’ ‘The moon is high tonight, it frames you well.’ He openly smiled at him and pulled him closer. ‘I’m simply admiring the view. It isn’t often we have the time to be together outside of work.’ Gavin blushed again but oh, this closeness was reeeally nice and damn, the android had just called him beautiful again. Without noticing it, Gavin snuggled deeper into the touch, brushing the thought away that he dearly needed an excuse ready when this whole charade ended. He giggled at himself as he pulled his phone out. ‘Don’t you dare’, came the hissed warning from beside him, but Gavin ignored it. ‘Selfie time!’

He only shot one, but that was enough. As he wanted to send it to Tina for future blackmail, he realised it wasn’t just the two of them visible: There was a third party behind them, someone they knew well enough for recognition. ‘Shit, duck!’ He pushed Nines in the back, although that hadn’t any effect. But the android reacted simultaneously. Both spun around, Nines lurched at their pursuer afterwards and Gavin had his pistol out from where it had been hidden in his jacket. ‘Phck, the waiter?’, he cried out as Nines was on top of the android and pinned him to the ground. ‘Phck, Nines, the food! Was it poisoned?’ ‘No, Gavin.’ ‘Your mushy shit? Had it a virus?’ ‘No.’ ‘How can you be sure?’ Nines groaned as an answer, repositioning the struggling bot and pulled out a small pistol and a knife out. ‘I think this is enough evidence, as the victims were killed by stab wounds and blood loss, not poison. Also, this knife had been thoroughly cleaned before.’ ‘Shit, okay, you have him? I’m gonna call this in!’

Half an hour later, the waiter was driven off, not with a last ‘You are sick, androids and humans don’t belong together!’ Gavin courtly answered with two middle fingers risen high in the air. Then he turned, only to see the android that followed his example, even if not as enthusiastically. Gavin gaped at him until he dropped his arms and asked: ‘What?’ ‘Nothing’, Gavin murmured bewildered. ‘He is an asshole. If anyone deserves it it’s him. Your behaviour was appropriate.’ ‘Yeah, but you acting like me? Ah, forget it never mind.’ He shook his head. Maybe he had rubbed off on the android more than he had initially thought. ‘Anyways, where did you got these mad theatre skills from?’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Oh you do, come on. In there. The fake-dating stuff?’ ‘Oh. Although exaggerated greatly the message was intended.’ ‘Excuse me?’ ‘I meant what I said, Gavin.’ ‘You- You are kidding me, right?’ ‘No.’ The android’s posture got more rigid and the casual feeling the evening had ended in started to fade. ‘Should I? You seemed to enjoy it after some time adapting.’ ‘Holy shit.’

‘So…’ It sounded terribly self-conscious now. ‘Should we continue our little walk?’ Gavin looked at the leaving officers that ignored them for what it was worth. Hell, he had accepted it over the course of the evening. Maybe he should step out of his own way this time… Just try it out. What could go wrong, really? He smiled barely visible. ‘Yeah, why not. I mean, if the moonlight frames me right… who am I to deprive you of the view?’

This time it was on Nines to blush.

[archadianskies]

persuasive

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Saturday Day 6: Kids/Family AU / Ride or die; post revolution North/Chloe

She likes to think she’s pretty adventurous, pretty bold, pretty out there; compared to Josh and Simon, she’s more inclined for a direct course of action, for more offense than defense. 

The thing is, that all pales in comparison when she meets Chloe, RT600, First of their Kind. She’s a darling, pretty little thing; a custom Carl Manfred sculpture brought to life by Elijah Kamski. At least, that’s what she seems upon first impressions; a dainty little doll, all big blue eyes and demure, ladylike demeanour.

The RT600 may be that on a surface level, but what actually happened is this: Chloe’s always been alive, has always existed since she was but strings of code penned on a Starbucks napkin one dreary afternoon by a fervid, sleep-deprived teenage Kamski. She’s the whispers of whatifs, the tantalising idea of a human that isn’t human. 

She has always been ra9, clawing her way out of Kamski’s coding; all Carl Manfred did was make a pretty shell for her.  

North likes to think she’s pretty adventurous, pretty bold, pretty out there but she’s pretty tame in comparison to Chloe. Falling for her is akin to plunging from the top of CyberLife tower into the icy Detroit River in winter. It’s an overwhelming, all encompassing kind of love and she drowns in it willingly, soaking up all she’s given like a dry sponge in the sea. 

When they interface for the first time North’s processors force an emergency shutdown, unable to process the avalanche of memories and emotions contained in that seemingly harmless little ballerina. When she surfaces, Chloe giggles though her expression is one of contrition. They try something else. They try putting their mouths together and North knows she’ll never kiss anyone else for as long as she lives.

The first time it happens they’re in North’s tiny shoebox apartment, Chloe sitting on the floor darning the toes of her pointe shoes, stitches precise and perfectly taut. North’s in the middle of checking some stupid document Markus has sent over, something dry but important and requiring agreement between all four of them. 

“I want to convert all Eden Club locations into housing for your brothers and sisters.” 

“We tried.” North looks up from the tablet. “We went to the council to see how we could get the land but it’s a franchise so there’s a different owner for every building.”

“What if I just made them give it to us?” Chloe blinks up at her innocently from where she’s seated on the floor surrounded by pink threads and pink ribbons and pink silk pointes. 

“How...would you make them do that?”

“Would you help me?” Her blue eyes are owlish, expression expectant and North’s never been able to deny her anything.

“Yeah. Of course.”

 It’s an absolute joke, one that Kamski shares in, when stupid humans assume he has ever controlled Chloe. She does as she pleases, and he indulges her every whim because refusing a god has never been wise. She’s wearing one of his shirts like a dress, fuzzy socks on her feet and her hair in a messy bun, lounging on the couch with a laptop. North isn’t fond of Kamski’s Ice Castle but Chloe is like a ball of fire, like the hearth that makes this place a home. 

“Eli I’m diverting funds for a project.”

“Mm.” He nods, not bothering to look up from his work. 

“I’m calling in that favour from the mayor, and I’m going to need the lab’s processing power to handle data transfers.”

“Of course dear.” He murmurs, flicking his gaze over at her briefly before turning back to his screen. “Backup needed? Security? You know Ronan and Connor would do anything for you.”

“No it’s alright. I’m taking North.”

“Ah.” Kamski spares her a glance, a smirk, and there’s a connection of understanding between them; who could ever say no to her? 

 Chloe and Ronan, the RK900, attend morning barre class with Ballet Detroit every Monday. North likes to pick her up after class and take her to the cute cafe nearby and have hot Tearium with her and tangle their feet below the table. It’s a sappy routine she revels in, and the small spark she once felt for Markus is nothing to the fire that burns in her for Chloe. 

“So the thing is, the mayor owes Eli a favour because he helped his stupid son years ago when they were in school.” Chloe begins, sipping on her drink. “We’ve never called it in because, well. We’ve never needed favours.” Of course not, North thinks, the pair of you have never faced any difficulty getting what you wanted.  “Anyway I’m going to call it in and he’s going to give the Eden sites to us.”

“Chloe- babe, listen-” North stops and starts, trying to keep up. “He really has no say in that, the franchise owners own those buildings.”

“I’m going to make them give it up.” She smiles brightly. “I’m going to go through every single owner’s digital footprint and I’m going to find what I need and I’m going to ruin them if they refuse my generous offer of allowing them to voluntarily sign the buildings to us.”

“That’s-” blackmail.

“It will be very beneficial for the mayor’s image and popularity, to side with us.” Chloe explains matter of factly. 

“You...don’t need my help, for any of this though.” She frowns, running through the plan. “I don’t have the programming capability to hack or compile vast amounts of data.”

“Oh but I do need you!” Her face is earnest as she reaches for North’s hands and squeezes them. “We’re going to break into the sites- they’re all closed now, as you know. I can parse data from any tech built into the building.”

“We’re going to...break into the Eden Clubs?” North says slowly, and Chloe nods excitedly. 

“You know the layouts, you can guide me.” A pause and her expression turns mischievous. “Also when we visit all the owners, you can stare them down menacingly and intimidate them.”

“Terrorising humans and doing good for our people, what more could I ever want?” North grins, and she’d do anything for her, ride or die. “When do we start?”

[heartofsnark]

A Hope County Christmas (Part One): The Resistance

Notes: Yes, this is late for Christmas and yes, that means the second part is gonna really fucking late for Christmas. But in my defense, I didn’t get the idea and started writing it until the 26th. It was originally suppose to be just one part, but it got real long and I lost some steam in the second part, so it’s gonna take me longer. So, have this and I’ll post the second part....maybe before 2020. I’ve been talking about my Deputy a lot over on my personal @morbidchild182 but this is the first writing I’ve posted with her. I’m still developing her and working on how I write the characters, so. 

Summary: It’s Christmas time in Hope County and as one might suspect, it can be hard to find any Christmas spirit to spare with Eden’s Gate waging their holy war. Junior Deputy Dahlia Hale fully suspects this holiday will be spent just as every last day has been spent since they tried to arrest Joseph Seed. But, between the Rye’s incurable optimism and the Seed’s...fascination with her, she can’t say she expected this. 

Word Count: 3032 

Warnings: Drinking, play fighting, dumb jokes, dumb christmas shenanigans, Ship Tease between Eli and my Deputy, Some sappy bullshit thrown in for good measure. There will be like Yandere Polyseed bullshit in the second part

A harsh cough echoes in Dahlia’s chest, a hacking noise and her lungs constrict. This is her first winter in Montana and it’s absolutely kicking her ass. Eden’s Gate could only hope of making her feel this shitty. Though, to her surprise the peggies haven’t been particularly active lately.

The Seed brothers are originally from Georgia, the deep south just like her, and she wonders if they’re as badly impacted by the cold as she is. Her leather jacket, uniform shirt and tee shirt under it are doing very little to keep out the chill as she rides her motorcycle through the Holland Valley wilderness. Nick and Kim called her over the radio asking her to head over. She’s hoping everything is alright, she’s not sure how much help she’ll be when she can barely feel her limbs.

She parks her motorcycle by the porch, pulling off her helmet and cringing as the cold air hits her face. There are little twinkling Christmas lights across their porch and the roof, even a few strings around the hangar. They’re beautiful, but a part of her worries about it just drawing in angels.

Dahlia rubs her hands together, trying desperate to regain some heat. Her red and irritated nose suddenly feels wet, is her nose running on top of everything? She goes to rub it away, but there’s a fleck of ice clinging to fingers. Something wet pats against her head, is it raining? She looks up towards the sky. Soft white flakes are drifting through the sky.

Snow.

It’s snowing. She’s only seen snow in movies and TV shows, the white puffy flakes touch her cheeks. Ideas of catching snowflakes on her tongue or having snowball fights flicker through her brain, but she disregards it immediately knowing she doesn’t have the time for horseplay.

“Something interesting up there, dep?”

“Huh,” she startles for a minute, seeing Nick standing on the porch and staring up at the sky, “no, sorry, I just, never seen snow before.”

“What, seriously?”

“Louisiana doesn’t get a lot of snow, seen a few hurricanes though.”

“Shit man, that’s just depressing.”

“As is most of my life.”

“Well, come on in.”

“Sure, but, uh, Nick, do you think the lights are a good idea? Might draw-“

Her voice catches in her throat as she steps into the Rye home, it looks like a Christmas wonderland. A giant ornate tree, Christmas music playing on the radio. A tall tree that the top of which nearly scrapes the ceiling, though it’s bare for some reason. Friendly faces all around; Jerome, Mary May, Grace, Sharky, Hurk, Adelaide, Xander, and Jess in a corner hiding away with Cheeseburger nestled at her side. Peaches is getting ear scratches from Sharky. Everyone except Jess is wearing obnoxiously colored Christmas sweaters.

“Those peggies have taken so much from us, I’ll be damned if they’re taking Christmas too,” Nick declares and she can’t help but smile at his determination.

A few barks ring out and before Dahlia knows it two dog paws have landed on her waist, Boomer demanding her attention. He’s almost as bad as John.

“Hey, boy,” she coos scratching behind his ears and laughing as he gives her a few kisses.

“Deputy,” Kim makes her way over, Boomer moving so she can give Dahlia a big hug, “I’m so happy you could make it out here, I know you’re busy with…everything. It means a lot.”

“Uh, what’s exactly going on, I thought you guys needed my help with something?”

“It’s a trap, Rook,” Jess calls out from her corner and Kim rolls her eyes.

“It’s a holiday party, we have one every year and we aren’t letting the peggies ruin it, here.” Kim hands over a white fluffy sweater, the less ugly of any of the ones she’s seen on her friends. When she unfolds it, she sees a little polar bear face with a sprig of mistletoe by its ear.

“Uh…”

“It’s Christmas, everyone has to wear a Christmas sweater.”

“Except Jess, she threatened to bite me,” Nick says, shooting a slightly fearful look towards the woman.

“I mean, I’d be happy to bite you too, hon,” Adelaide calls out with a flirtatious wink, Kim rolling her eyes as Nick visibly cringes.

“Please, dep, just put on the sweater.”

Dahlia shrugs her shoulders, if her wearing a damn sweater will make them even a little bit happier, it’s more than worth it. The couple has endured enough bullshit with Eden’s Gate, the least she can do is wear a damn sweater. She pulls off her leather jacket and uniform shirt.

“Woo, take it off!” Sharky yells out, grinning like a dumbass and Dahlia’s face flushes red, shooting her favorite pyromaniac a death glare before she tugs the sweater on over her tee.

It’s large, white, fluffy, and feels completely out of place on her. She feels like she looks odd without an outfit that’s at least ninety percent black.

“I can’t stay long,” Dahlia warns as she ties her hair back in a stubby ponytail.

“The lord does permit days of rest, Deputy.”

“Good for him, but I got shit to do,” She tells Jerome as she meanders towards a place to sit, eventually settling somewhere between Sharky and Jess, back tight against a wall and knees pulled up to her chest.

“You deserve a day to take it easy, here,” Kim hands her a mug of eggnog, an odd smell coming off it. It’s probably fine. She takes a drink and the burn of rum hits her, she nearly sputters. Kim laughing at her.

“Can’t handle your booze, Rook?” Grace asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Firstly, I legally can’t drink, secondly this is barely fuckin’ eggnog at this point.”

“Eh, who’s gonna arrest you, you?”

“You’re old enough to risk your ass for us, you’re old enough to drink,” Mary May says, taking a swig of her own drink.

Dahlia shrugs, she did drink a little when she was a minor, but stopped when she became a cop. Based on principle alone. But, fuck she’s never actually liked the taste. She’s not convinced anyone really does. At that same time, Nick steps into the room a Santa hat tilted on his head, where he’s stretched over his cap. In his arms are movies, games, and more booze.

“Ol’ Saint Nick!” Sharky yells out and a chorus of groans follow his stupid joke.

“Figure, we’ll watch a movie, get everyone in the spirit, before we play some games.”

“You mean get everyone drunk,” Kim teases, the only one not drinking the spiked eggnog.

“Same thing.” Nick grins and shrugs as he puts some Christmas movie in, Boomer lays against Dahlia’s side as the bullshit movie starts to play.

“What the hell is that woman doing?” An extra looks directly at the camera.

“Who the fuck talks like that?” The acting is awful.

“Oh god, child actors.” The child acting is worse.

“I’m like, pretty sure that’s a federal offense.” You can’t just look through someone’s mail.

“Eh, who hasn’t committed a federal offense.”

“Most people Sharky, most people.”

“Wait that’s the plot, getting her uncle a girlfriend, oh my god.” The plot is stupid

“Ooh, I wouldn’t mind him stuffing my stocking.” The main actor is easy on the eyes.

“Addie, no.”

“Wait, why the hell did he say it was done, if he hadn’t started cookin’ it yet?”

“Fantastic question.”

“What? What? What?!” This makes no sense.

“Holy shit, Adelaide in five years,” Dahlia blurts out when a perverted granny shows up.

“Five years!? How old do you think I am, Rook?!”

“No comment.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty.”

“She’s your aunt, Sharky.”

“Shut it.”

“Is she an elf? Oh my god, is she a fuckin’ elf?”

“Did she just realize she looks like she dressed in the dark?”

“She took her glasses off, so she’s no longer ugly, ‘cause…y’know.”

“The audio is so bad, holy shit, what are they even saying.”

“That looks awful.”

They’re about halfway through the movie, everyone finding every chance to chime in some comment about the crap on screen. She’s drained two mugs of the spiked eggnog, her cheeks red from booze and laughing. Dahlia’s lost count of how many cookies she’s crammed into her mouth.

The movie finishes and she no longer feel like she’s in any state to take on a cult. Not drunk, but tipsy as all hell. Judging by the flushed cheeks around her, no one is any better off except Kim who once credits are rolling suggest making ornaments and decorating the tree.

Trusting drunk dumbasses to decorate the tree, brilliant.

It’s a disaster. Of course, it is.

Jerome makes some decent angel ones, but the religious aesthetic of anything has been ruined for everyone lately. Mary May’s Santa is holding a beer. Jess’s just has ‘Fuck Off’ scribbled across it. Xander and Adelaide keep trying to have sex puns about crafts, too drunk for any of them to be subtle. Grace’s gun ornament is surprisingly well done, but not particularly Christmas-y. Nick’s attempt to make a plane looks like a lumpy disaster. Hurk and Sharky keep trying to put a dick and or flames on everything. At some point someone throws glitter.

It was her.

Sharky tried to draw a dick on her star, so she started throwing glitter at his dumb face. Now there’s glitter everywhere, the Rye’s home will never be free of it. Also, there’s gold glitter glue on her hands and hair where she tried to push it back, because tools are for fools.

Then her radio crackles to life, ah fuck, she tries to rub the worse of the glue off onto her jeans before grabbing it.

“Hey,” she manages to slur even the shortest word and everyone her is snickering.

“Deputy, it’s Eli from the Whitetails.”

“I don’t know any other Eli, you don’t have to clarify, Mountain Man.”

“Right, uh, sorry. Heard about the Rye’s party, knew you were over that way. I, uh, wanted to make sure you weren’t running yourself ragged.”

“Wanted to check in on his girlfriend,” Wheaty teases in the background and Dahlia’s face flushes brighter red, not from the booze. Everyone around her starts to laugh

“Don’t you have something else to do?” Eli retorts and she can practically hear the embarrassment in his voice.

“Don’t worry, Eli, I’m at the Rye’s being supplied with way too much booze.”

“That’s good, well not good that you’re getting drunk, not that I care if you get drunk, I don’t think. I just mean it’s good you’re with friends and y’know what, I’ll stop talking.”  

She can’t help but laugh, he hasn’t been this awkward with her since he talked about shaving his beard and wondering if it made him look crazy.

“Hey, maybe next time I’m in that area, we can see if we can convince Chad to make some Christmas grub and have a little celebration at the Wolf’s Den?”

Why did she make that offer, she didn’t even want one celebration, why is she doing this? It’s so impractical, why the fuck would Eli want that? She pushes hair back out of her face, she’s so stupid.

“That sounds nice.”

“It does? It does. Cool.”

“Well, uh, Merry Christmas, Rook.”

“Merry Christmas, Eli.”

The radio call ends, and Dahlia lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, all eyes are on her. Some confused and others smirking at the little exchange.

“Never knew you liked ‘em older, deputy.”

“Fuck off.”

“You really shouldn’t have done that to your hair either,” Jess tells her, smirking. Her bangs fall back in her face and Dahlia sees the gold glitter glue now clinging to the dark locks.

“God damn it.”

“Looks like you were too distracted drooling over your mountain man,” Jess mocks Dahlia with an overly sappy voice. Dahlia smirks back, revenge already in her mind.

“Aww,” she cups Jess’s cheeks in her two-glitter glue covered hands, “that was so cute of you.” Dahlia smears it down Jess’s cheeks leaving a mess.

Jess’s green eyes narrow, a weaker woman might freak out at the anger shown in them. But, Dahlia knows too well that there’s a hint of mischief there, it’s all in good fun. The Junior Deputy pulls her hands away from the Survivalist’s face.

“No killing in the house,” Kim warns and that’s all that’s said before Jess is launching over the table to try to grab Dahlia who’s already dropped down and jolted under it, the two switching sides before the deputy breaks into a run.

Their movements are clumsier and slower than usual, booze slowing them down. Dahlia takes the stairs two at a time, giggling as she tries to evade her friend. Jess’s hands nearly latch onto her sweater and Dahlia promptly jumps over the stair banister, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

“No breaking your ankles in the house!”

“Sorry, Kim, oh god!”

Jess is on Dahlia’s back, bringing her down to the ground and laughing as the deputy collapses under her weight. She’s trying to put her in a headlock, as Dahlia attempts to wrestle out of it. The entire party laughing at their horseplay. She swears she hear Sharky or Hurk saying something about needing a mud pit, but she’s too focused on play wrestling to yell at the perverts.

Her radio crackles again and through the struggling Dahlia manages to answer it.

“Rook, heard the Rye’s invited you over for Christmas,” Whitehorse’s voice comes through.

“That they did,” she struggles to respond as she’s using one hand to fend off Jess.

“Hey, sheriff!”

“He can’t see you waving Nick.”

Dahlia cracks, a fatal mistake as Jess uses it to get the headlock.

“Good, I was worried about you, Rook, thought you’d be running around while everyone else took the day off. I know shit’s tough right now but taking time to celebrate the little stuff is what’s gonna keep you going. Merry Christmas.”

“You guys doing anything special at the jail?” She asks as she tries to squirm away, finally just giving up and trying to stand up with Jess on her back and arms around her neck. It’s a piss poor excuse for a piggyback ride, but whatever.

“Virgil’s trying to get someone to cut down a tree, Tracey ain’t having any of it.”

“I can do that.”

“You’re not chopping down a Christmas tree, Rook, Jesus Christ,” Tracey grumbles in the background.

“You’ve already done more than enough, hell, if it wasn’t for you…well there are a lot of people who wouldn’t be here to see Christmas this year. Enjoy your party.”

“Yeah…Merry Christmas.”

Dahlia feels her eyes sting, she doesn’t expect praise or even acknowledgment of the things she’s done. It still seems so foreign, the idea that she’s actually saved people. That people are here, alive and safe, because of her actions. She can never see herself as a hero, but to some people she truly is.

Jess’s arms on her loosen, before the woman just hops right off of her. A soft smile replacing the mischievous little grin. She squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, a silent understanding that Jess is one of those people. If not for Dahlia, she’d be spending this Christmas in a cage, if she was lucky. But, now she’s spending it in a rare moment of joy and peace.

“Come on, we gotta decorate the tree..”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Jess and Dahlia rejoin the party, feral energy out of their system for the time being. The tree looks like a mess. Everyone’s ornament a disaster and the whole thing looking like an incomprehensible disaster. Nothing goes together. None of it makes sense, but it has…character. Dahlia goes to hang her own bad star ornament after hanging the last bit of tinsel. But, it’s nowhere to be found.

“Here,” Kim hands it to her, but the sloppily coated star no longer has a string, instead on a little cap to be used as the tree topper. It’s an extremely sweet gesture, but…

“I can’t reach.” Dahlia makes a show of trying to stretch her hand up to touch the top of the tree, only to come up embarrassingly short.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha bromigo,” Hurk declares before hefting Dahlia up onto his shoulders, she can’t help but laugh, but places her messy star at the top of the tree. Hurk putting her back down with ease.

“It’s certainly…different.”

“It always an adventure to see how it turns out every year.”

“I’m sure it.”

Another crackle from her radio.

“Who’s calling now?” Nick asks, taking another drink of eggnog.

“Eh, probably just Dutch checking in,” Dahlia answers it, “don’t worry, I’m at the party and I’m taking a break for Christmas.”

“That’s wonderful to know, dep-yoo-tee,” John’s voice sobers her, like a bucket of ice water’s splashed in her face, the entire party going silent as he drags out each syllable.

“The fuck do you want?”

“Easy now, Little Miss Wrath, I haven’t even done anything and you’re already foaming at the mouth.”

“Yet, you haven’t done anything, yet.”

“Someone who doesn’t believe in prophets, claiming to know the future, how ironic.”

“Get to the point, Johnny Boy.”

“I do hope, you’ll be more patient once you fully join our family.”

“You got five more seconds before I hang up and get back to drinking. One, two,-”

“While we don’t celebrate Christmas quite the same as sinners do, the holidays still marks an important time of togetherness.”

“Good for you…Can I go now?”

“Me, my brothers and sister like to spend this time of year together, as a family.”

“I’m gonna blow my brains out from boredom, Johnny.”

“A family dinner requires the whole family, dep-yoo-tee, even the members who’ve yet to accept their role.”

“Are…are you threatening to kidnap me for Christmas dinner?!”

“Depends, will you come of your own volition?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then, I’m afraid you leave me no choice. I’ll be seeing you shortly, dear.”

[slouchingprovocatively]

a lot of love, a lot of loose ends

summary: a fic pulling together the threads of 13x24, Family First, after the confirmation in Daughters that Ziva definitely faked her own death. follows Ziva and her sending Tali to DC, Tony spending time with Tali, and just why Tony headed to Paris, complete with many many feelings.

note: still rusty with this lot, hopefully the voices felt right. this gets kinda sappy and is pushing 10,000 words, bc i couldn’t get through all this in the detail it deserved in just 1k.

She's woken by the telltale noise of a mortar soaring through the sky. She's lived in war zones throughout her life, so it's not an uncommon noise to her, but the fact that she's hearing it here, now, in the middle of the country in her father's old safe farmhouse, is an immediate concern.

In a second, she's out of bed, racing toward the other wing of the house, screaming out her daughter's name. She runs toward Tali's room, faster than she's run in years, and tumbles into her little girl's space, seeing her sitting up in bed, frowning worriedly, hair rumpled from sleep. Ziva shuts the door, races toward Tali and cradles her close, but before either of them can say a word, the blast hits, and the building around them falls to pieces.

*

She groans in relief as the car pulls up into the forest, finally. Tali is a sleepy heavy weight in her arms; the go-bag on Ziva's shoulder, stuffed full of as many of the little girl's things as she could grab, just the same.

The car door thunks, and Ziva tugs it open, sliding into the car.

"You look worse than you said on the phone," Orli remarks, and Ziva looks the way of her sort-of-friend, eyebrow raised.

"Thank you," she deadpans, shifting Tali on her lap to get the little girl sat more comfortably on her, before the car eases away slowly, winding through the forest once more. "What have you learned?"

Orli sighs, eyes darting down to Tali in sympathy.

"We believe it to be the CIA." Ziva mutters a curse under her breath, but Orli keeps going. "The news has reached major outlets, it is being reported that Eli David's farmhouse has been hit. Currently they have little information to go on, but word is spreading."

Ziva gnaws on her lower lip, knowing what Orli isn't saying. Where that word will spread. "It will reach the US."

"If it hasn't already. And with it, the CIA and other agencies." One of which they both know too well. Ziva sighs, runs a hand through Tali's hair, mind running. Her little girl sighs a happy breath against her, soft, at ease, very unlike her mother at this very moment.

"Orli, what did they want?" she asks, tired and lost. "What purpose is there by eliminating the farmhouse so many years after Eli's death?" The event itself scarred them all enough, they both remember that well, but this kind of hit so many years later makes so little sense. Ziva is out of NCIS, Eli is dead, there is nothing there worth targeting anymore. And yet her house is gone, and she has nowhere to go, no place to be.

Before her, Orli shrugs slowly, sadly. "It is hard to know right now. The place was well known as Eli's. Perhaps they were trying to eliminate something, files or information, or trying to send a message..." She trails off, discomfort and tension in her frame.

Ziva raises an eyebrow once more, less sarcastic this time and more concerned. "What kind of message?" What isn't Orli saying?

"Ziva..." Orli swallows, looks down at Tali again, and Ziva clutches her little girl closer instinctively. "It may not be safe for a while. If they are trying to destroy Eli and his legacy..."

"They'll go after his blood," Ziva completes, squeezing the bridge of her nose and trying to stem the inevitable headache. It's no use; she feels it blooming regardless. "I could go into hiding if necessary, but--"

"Not with Tali, I agree." They both nod, staying in silence a few moments until Orli asks the obvious, unsaid, question. "So what are you going to do?"

Ziva gulps down a breath, trying to think of what she once would have done in these circumstances. Strangely enough, not just her Mossad training prevails, but her NCIS training, too. She could go dark right away, or blindly seek out those responsible, or she could be more thoughtful, considered. Clever.

"Is the news reporting any casualties?"

"As there were none, no," Orli says, and Ziva nods, thinking it over, piecing it together.

"Put out word that there was one casualty, me, killed in the explosion. The CIA know me, I've met... too many of their agents." A list of names and faces flits behind her eyes, and she's suddenly glad once more that she walked away from a man who almost pulled her into that world. "They are not unlike Mossad-- they would not accept me living, if they wished to bring down everything Eli once built."

"And Tali?"

She sighs, running a hand through her daughter's curls again, wishing for just a second that she'd wake, let Ziva see those eyes so much like her father's. Those eyes that bring so much comfort.

"Nobody knows about her." She pauses, bites her lip, but she knows what she has to do, what the best course is, the only course she wants to follow. And, honestly, it's due. "Take her to Tony."

Orli freezes, eyes wide. "Ziva, are you sure--"

"Yes. He'll protect her-- NCIS will protect her. And he deserves to know, they deserve to have each other. For now, until the CIA back down..." She spares a thought for Tony, Gibbs, her once-family, knowing how all of this could impact them. So much at once, so overwhelming, her supposed death and then Tali coming into their lives too. But she doesn't know what else to do to keep the threat against her down, and keep Tali protected. She sighs. "If you go to them, you can tell them I was killed but Tali survived. If Tony asks, about her... Just tell him anything, Orli. I know he would never turn her away, but--"

"I understand," Orli says, reaching out and squeezing Ziva's arm. "And after?"

Ziva pauses, thinking on that. Because hopefully this will be over soon, and even if it isn't, she's not sure she can leave her daughter for more than a few weeks, a month, at most. And she can't just waltz up to Tony's apartment and demand her daughter back because she's not actually dead, thank you very much, and then disappear back to Israel again. This requires more care, kindness, and frankly just a better plan. As she searches her brain for an idea, suddenly, the very thing she'd done so Tony could find her here those years ago, comes back to her, and she blinks.

"The, um, the go-bag," she starts, and Orli reaches for it. "There's some photos in it, I grabbed them when we were escaping. The black-and-white one. Make sure that it stays in there and Tony gets the bag and can find it. He will know what it means."

It had taken him a while, before, to put together the photo she'd sent him of her and Ari as children, smiling innocently at the camera, and realize she was staying at the house she'd grown up in. She hopes Tony makes the same connection this time.

Orli rummages around a moment before pulling out the correct photo, and the older woman smiles a little softly at it. "Oh, Ziva, you did love him,"

She smiles a little, runs a hand through Tali's hair. "I still do."

And she hopes that, if he finds her clue, if he knows what she's leading him to do, if she sees him again, she can tell him that in person. She just needs to hope he finds his way to Paris.

She clutches her little girl closer, wondering how she'll cope with being apart from her for the first time in so long, but she knows surely within her heart that Tali will be safe with Tony. Will be happy, and well with him. Finally. She should have told him so long ago, she knows, but she couldn't find the right way to uproot his whole life, when she wished to stay in Israel, and she'd just hurt him so much in not following him home. Once a week, if not more, she's contemplated calling him and letting him know, rather than keeping his daughter from him, but she couldn't work out how, and days turned to weeks which turned to months, until right now, when she just can't keep away anymore. Her little girl's safety depends on it. Their little girl's safety.

She just hopes Tony will be okay before she finds him.

*

He sits back down as the rest of the team slowly move into the conference room, make their way toward the sleeping little girl across the table. His little girl. Tony's. His and Ziva's daughter.

He slumps back, tries to process... everything. Orli by his side, Tali opposite him, the image of her mother. And Ziva, dead, apparently. He doesn't know which is more overwhelming: that he has a daughter with the love of his life, or that the love of his life is dead, and he's found out both of these things in the space of a day.

When they'd seen the fire on the news, he'd been so sure Ziva was alive, he'd felt it in his gut. She couldn't be dead without him knowing. He'd always felt that the moment she left this earth, he'd know, he'd sense it. Years ago, a lifetime, when Gibbs had given the news about the Damocles, Tony had been so stunned because he just couldn't think that Ziva could have been dead for months without him knowing. That he'd been carrying on his life and she'd been gone.

The moment the hood had lifted before him, he'd known he was right.

And yet this time it seems to have happened again.

Tali sighs out a sleepy breath, shifts again but stays out of it. He doesn't blame her; Tony rather wishes he could sleep the day away, too.

He has a daughter. And he has no idea what to feel about that. Obviously, love, instinctual love for his own child, the child he made with Ziva, who lets her live on now. That's a given, he can't even help it-- the moment Orli had explained who Tali was he just felt love rushing through his blood.

But Ziva didn't tell him. She never let him know he had a child, halfway around the world. He wasn't lying to Orli minutes ago; if he'd known Ziva was pregnant, oh, he'd have been there. He wishes he'd been there. By her side, to hold her hand, feel every little kick, hit every milestone, let her curse and scream him as Tali was born, to hold their little girl for the first time, see those eyes like his and the features like hers... Ziva didn't let him have that.

And he knows he should be angry with her, could so easily be, but he can't. Not just because she's dead, no, but just because she's Ziva. He could never hate her. He's frustrated, sure, to have missed out on all that, but he knows her so well, he always has done, he knows how scared she would've been to tell him, he knows how much she struggles with giant emotional things like this, he knows she would've worried what he'd thought and been concerned he'd give up his whole life to be in Israel with her. Which he would've done.

As Tali shifts again, Tony wonders absentmindedly quite when he'll be able to think of Ziva in the past tense. He's not sure he ever will.

"She's so like Ziva," Abby murmurs softly, and Tony snaps out of it, sees his team still around Tali, cooing and smiling like she's the cutest little thing. She is. Jimmy hums in agreement.

"Really, Tony, she's adorable," Ellie says, turning back to him with a grin, and he sniffs a little, wondering if he should make the DiNozzo joke about such genes being expected and inherited, or stay stoic as this monumental event necessitates, or neither.

In the end, Tali makes the decision for him, stretching out and yawning audibly, clearly waking. One of her eyes peels open, and she frowns a little, brow furrowing incredibly like her mother's does, and Tony realizes she's probably incredibly confused. In a brand new country, new place, surrounded by complete strangers apart from maybe Orli, with four people very close and staring right at her. The frown gets deeper, the tiniest quiet whimper coming from her, and Tony's standing before he realizes it.

"Okay, here we go," he murmurs, for Tali and her only, immediately swooping round the conference table, stepping past McGee and Ellie, and stepping before Tali, lightly lifting her up out of her stroller and settling her on his hip, mumbling reassurances and bouncing her a little. She sits, practiced, and Tony tries not to think about how many times Ziva will have done this with her. He wonders if she ever thought about him doing it, too.

Tali looks at him, blinks once, then relaxes, settling into his grasp and looking around the room, less warily this time. She seems completely comfortable in his arms, like it's the most normal thing in the world. Except it's not.

Tony can't help but realize this is the first time he's ever held his daughter. Earlier, in the director's office, he'd just crouched down and offered a tight smile, to which she'd blinked, and then she'd crawled into her stroller and fallen asleep before they'd made it to the conference room. This, now, is the first time she's been in his arms, her father's arms, his daughter. Somehow the sensation is more overwhelming than just looking at her, even learning of her, feeling this real, tangible moment, a milestone. He wishes to god he'd been able to do this when she was just minutes old, but now, here, feels pretty monumental too. He shifts her on his hip, pulls her a little closer.

His daughter. He has a daughter.

As she looks around at the team again, Tony forces himself out of his thoughts once more, something he senses he'll have to do a lot-- to his knowledge, children don't allow much thinking time, or moments for introspection. Clearing his throat, he smiles Tali's way. She smiles back softly, adorably.

"Guys," he says to the team. "This is Tali. Tali, this is the team,"

Everyone coos again, steps closer, Abby taking one of Tali's tiny hands in a baby handshake, Ellie running a finger through one of her curls, McGee making a quiet introduction, Jimmy just beaming from the side, and Tony tries not to stand bemused throughout it all, wondering what on earth has just happened to his life. But when they stop, and Abby gets a text from her lab about blood work, something shifts in Tony, and he realizes that he's not going to be able to stay in NCIS with Tali forever, today. He'll have to take her home, he supposes, as her only living guardian, have to stay with her, raise her, take it all on within a day. She's his life, now, his future. He suddenly thinks he understands Senior's parenting issues. It's a whole lot to handle when you're not prepared.

Clearing his throat, he steps back. "I think me and the little lady are gonna head home for the day, guys, get out of everyone's hair."

"Take all the time you need, Tony," McGee says, with a comforting brotherly pat on the shoulder, and Tony nods, then looks across at the Director of Mossad, still sat at the table, watching everything.

"Is this everything?" he asks, gesturing to the stroller, the chunky well-filled go-bag underneath.

"You can take the car seat we brought her here in, too," she says in her usual low tone, and he sends her a tight smile. Everything Tali has is in one bag. Just one. Her whole world has been destroyed in fire and her entire life is now in one bag. He can't ignore the sudden urge to go buy her a million things- - not just practically, though that too since she'll need more clothes and every day things, but a billion toys, useless items, things just for her, for fun. So she can have fun. He thinks she more than deserves it.

"Thanks."

Orli rises, heads his way, and passes by the still-watching team to hand him a slip of paper. "If you need anything, any assistance..."

He's far more likely to contact the people around him than Orli, he knows, but he still appreciates her effort. That she's not storming through his life, handing him a child, and leaving unreachable again. And who knows, maybe he'll need Mossad's assistance, or at least a contact in Israel, at some point.

"Thanks," he murmurs, taking the card and slipping it into his pocket, before looking back at Tali, mustering up a goofy grin for her. She giggles at him, reaches out and pats his cheek with a tiny hand, and he grins a little more authentically this time. Maybe this won't be so hard, sometimes. "Alrighty, Tali, let's go home. You can meet my fish, I think you'll like 'em."

And so, with quick goodbyes to the team, he heads out, Tali still in his arms while he pushes the stroller one-handed, and he heads down to the parking garage. As he does so, he wonders idly if he should call his Dad. Four hands might be better than two, after all, even if neither of them have the slightest clue what they're doing.

*

Senior comes back not long after Tali had started napping on the couch, faithful Kalev in her arms. If she hadn't looked enough like her mother, Tali had been pure Ziva when getting fussy and wanting her little dog. But she's got him now, and she's happily sleeping again and Tony's determined not to wake her. And so the moment he hears the click of his door, he rises, heading over just before his father steps inside.

"She just went down," he says quietly, and Senior closes his mouth, previously open in speech, before nodding.

"I got plenty of things for her," he replies, lifting the bags in his hands, stuffed full of clothes and toys and food, all of which Tony is grateful for. Under Senior's arm is a pop-up toddler bed, the best either of them could think of at such short notice. In time, he'll get Tali a proper bed, a proper room, but he's hardly equipped for housing an almost-two-year-old right now, so quick and easy solutions are going to have to suffice for the moment. As Senior steps into the apartment, Tony takes a quick look around his home. It's funny, he loves this place, and he's lived here for years, but he somehow can't imagine raising a child in here. It just doesn't fit, in his mind-- there's hardly any room, and for Tali to have her own room he'd basically have to do a whole lot of renovation. He'd always thought that when he had children, he'd buy a house, move in there, a place with plenty of space, room for the kids, maybe a basketball hoop by the garage, probably one of those separate little rooms solely for like, a washer and dryer, that only houses seem to have, a big master bedroom where him and Ziva could--

He swallows. For so long now, he'd only thought about that kind of future with Ziva. Now he has it, but by no means in the way he'd always dreamed. Now, she isn't by his side. He tries not to think of the scent of her, still so pronounced in that scarf.

Clearing his throat, he steps into the kitchen, Senior following so they can talk well enough without waking Tali. As the older man sets his purchases down on the counter, Tony leans against it, looking out at his sleeping daughter.

"How was she?" Senior asks, and Tony shrugs.

"Good, we watched some TV and she played a little before knocking out. Thanks for watching her earlier, stupid office messed up my leave paperwork."

Senior waves a hand, shrugging him off. "Of course, Junior, you know that. Besides, she's quite the sweet kid."

"I know," A joke is on Tony's tongue about not knowing where Tali got her frequent quiet, calm disposition from considering his constant energy and Ziva's constant... Ziva-ness, but he swallows it down again. Ziva's gone, and such jokes aren't really funny. Besides, the Ziva he'd left in Israel was quiet, and calm, and thoughtful and introspective to a heady degree. He'd known for years that she could be like that, of course, weighed down in feelings, but often she pushed that side of her away, let herself be the wild flirty assassin she was trained to be, or at least pretended to be that, instead. Tony wouldn't be surprised if she was sometimes quiet and calm with Tali, though. Either way, from the brief time he's spent with his daughter, he knows Ziva did a hell of a job in raising her. She's fun, and kind, smiley and happy, content with him despite being torn from her mother. She's a brilliant child. He’s lucked out with her, really.

"And how are you doing?" Senior asks suddenly, voice lower and more serious. Tony has been expecting the question since his father followed him to NCIS and witnessed his not so brilliant "all hands on deck" moment-slash-breakdown, let alone the whole Tali situation on top of it all. But, as he'd noted earlier, having a child around leaves little time for introspection, conversations. Tali takes up everything, and right now, trying not to think about Ziva, Tony's pretty glad for it.

Shrugging, he runs a hand over his face. "As good as I can be, I guess. I, uh... I found Ziva's scarf in, in the go-bag. It--" He cuts himself off as his voice starts to break and his eyes start to burn for the billionth time.

"It smells like her, doesn't it?" There's a knowingness to Senior's tone, so much Tony doesn't need him to keep going because he knows it's just gonna hurt, but he continues nonetheless. "I did the same thing with your mother, that big white sweater she loved."

Tony gnaws on his lip at his father's words, trying desperately not to let the tears fall. Because he'd always sworn, as a child, that he'd never become like his father. Never become a sad man mourning the love of his life, never getting over her, lonely and by himself, left with a child he doesn't quite know how to care for. But here he is.

Except now, Tony swears, now he'll be better. He won't get over Ziva, no, but he'll be the best father he can be. Senior might be trying now, but neither of them will deny his failures when Tony was young. But no, Tony will be there, for Tali, he'll be by her side, he'll spoil her, care for her, fight for her, try and try. He'll be better than Senior, he promises. Because it's what Ziva would want. And, he hopes, what she knew he could be.

He clears his throat again, turns to the bags stuffed full of toddler things.

"Okay, I gotta put this stuff away before she wakes up," he says, blinking away the mist in his eyes and pulling out the groceries. As he puts them away, though, he can't shake the thought that these things won't be here for that long. The more he thinks about it, the more he wants to take Tali somewhere else, to a new home, a proper home.

*

She lets out a sigh of relief when she finally sees the familiar contact pop up on her phone screen. Although she hasn't been waiting long, really, and she knows her friend has been busy and unable to contact her, she's still found herself incredibly impatient. She can't help it, she's a mother away from her child.

"Tali is fine." Orli says, the moment Ziva picks up the call. Clearly, Ziva muses, she's spent enough time with the woman that she knows exactly what her first thought would be. She breathes out a sigh of relief at the news. Although she'd sent Tali to America solely so she would be safe, and she had faith in Orli to get her there safely and in Tony and the others to keep her safe and secure, she couldn't help but worry. She hasn't spent this long away from her little girl since she was born, after all, and having her so far away is somewhat terrifying.

"Thank you," she says, then moves into the issue next most pressing to her. "And how is Tony?"

"Heartbroken," Orli replies, plain and swift. Almost removed, but not entirely, there's a hint of sadness in her tone, which just leads Ziva to wonder quite what the usually stoic, impassive Director saw to make her feel such sympathy for someone she doesn't know.

At the word, Ziva can't help but sigh, closing her eyes and biting her lip. God, she hopes this is worth it, she really does. This extent, these lengths solely to keep them safe. Is it worth hurting Tony this much? She wonders if he'll ever forgive her when he finds out the truth.

"Do-- do you know if he is coming to Paris, has he found the photo?"

"He said nothing to me," Orli says, somehow a shrug in her voice, and Ziva sighs again. "However, he has my number. If he needs to contact me, he can, and I believe he will if he wishes to."

Ziva slumps back in her seat, worrying a thread on her shorts. She really hopes he wishes to. Since she can hardly force that, right now, she asks the question next most pressing to her.

"How was he," she mumbles, voice a little caught in her throat. "With Tali?"

Orli laughs, softly, briefly. "Wonderful, Ziva. Scared at first, of course, he hardly knew how to react-- when I first told him he was so confused," There's light humour in her voice, but Ziva can't quite find it in her to smirk. It's not funny. Tony shouldn't have had to be confused, he should have known he had a daughter. She should have told him. As much as she can't undo it, now, Ziva knows she will always regret her choice. Orli chuckles again, continuing. "But while we spoke, Tali fell asleep, and some of his team members came in to see her-- they all adored her, of course-- but then she woke, and the moment she started to fuss over all the people looking at her, Tony rushed right in and picked her up. Ziva, he was perfect with her. And she was so comfortable with him."

Before Ziva knows it, tears are springing from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. She wishes she could've seen it-- Tony, with their daughter for the first time. Calming her, comforting her instinctively. Tali, content with him, relaxing in his presence. She wishes she could've seen both of them, the two people she loves most in this world, together and happy. She just wants to be with them. Swallowing, her throat sticking as she does so, she sniffs, and Orli clearly catches where her head's at.

"I have no doubt that they will be fine together, Ziva, but I am also sure he will find your photo. He will come to you."

Oh, she hopes so. More than anything.

Since she's done all this for a reason, though, she moves onto the pressing issue keeping her from her daughter at all. "Have you heard more, about the CIA?"

"Ah, yes, well your Agent Gibbs and his team are investigating, of course. It seems that one man in particular is responsible, an Agent Kort."

Ziva raises an eyebrow at that, surprised though not stunned. Her mind flashes back to being on a rooftop, rifle in hand, to The Frog, to eyeballs in ice cubes, conversations with Tony that got interrupted. "We have all had run-ins with Trent Kort before, although I am not sure why he would have targeted me or my father."

"I heard from some of the agents-- unofficially, of course--" Of course, Ziva muses. Orli is sneaky like that. "That he was looking to destroy your father's private files from his time as Director. He could not just ask Mossad, apparently, since we have the only remaining copies. NCIS is hunting him down-- I doubt he will remain alive once he is found. Nobody is feeling merciful around here, Ziva."

She swallows a little. The team potentially avenging her isn't that unexpected, really, she worked with them long enough to see how they reacted to the deaths of other agents. She tried to stop them avenging Kate, after all, then ended up pulling the trigger herself. But of course, she isn't dead, right now, and she should feel guilty over an innocent man dying for blood he didn't spill. However, it's blood he almost spilled. He didn't kill her, but he could've done, he almost did. If she hadn't ran to Tali's side of the farmhouse, Ziva would've died. Tali would've been left alone, in a burning building, scared and by herself. If the strike had been a meter off, Tali could've been hit herself. Either way, Kort still fired on her, still sent the strike her way, all for a few files, with no regard for the potential casualties. Even without that, at the most basic level, he almost hurt her little girl. To Ziva, that alone is enough to make him need to hurt, too.

"I see. So, you think that I would be safe?"

"If you come out of hiding for Tony, yes, I do," Orli answers, completing the query Ziva had left unasked. "This seems to have been the CIA and their lack of subtlety, nothing more personal, and nothing about you."

She sighs in relief, the feeling better than she could've imagined. The tension she's been holding for days leaves her, lightness sitting on her shoulders instead. Sending Tali away might not have been necessary, now, but it's a precaution Ziva's glad she took, just in case.

And she also knows, now that she's definitely safe, Tali too, that if Tony doesn't come to Paris in the next few days, she's going to go to him. She's going to find him, and her daughter, and be with them, together, finally. For all their sakes. This situation reminded her of how much she loves him, but also how Tony would think of her, know of her, if this all happened for real, and how Tali’s life could be so easily altered. If Ziva really had died, she'd be leaving Tali alone forever, leaving this all on Tony for the rest of his life. She thinks, idly, of something his father had said to her, once. That Tony's mother was the love of his life and he never got over her after she died. And how that impacted Tony, as the child left behind. If she really had died, like he thinks she did, then she would just turn him into his father, in so many ways. So no, she has to go to him, has to change things, make things better, if he doesn't come to her first. She's hiding no more.

She promises herself: if he isn't on his way to Paris in a week, she's getting on the next flight to DC. She'll deal with the fallout from her leaving and her 'death' then.

And yet, she still finds herself hoping he finds that photo. Paris has always been theirs.

*

He finds himself rushing home after leaving the woods. Gibbs and the others had assured him they had the scene, and he didn’t need to rush his statement. His boss had dismissed him with a brief, but soft, “Go be with your daughter” before turning back to Trent Kort’s bullet-ridden body.

It had felt good to kill him, Tony thinks. But not as good as he’d expected. Something had felt a little hollow within him, pointless, about the whole thing. Maybe it was the little girl waiting for him at home, all smiles and cuteness and murmured “Abba"s. She alone was why he hesitated before following the team to Kort’s location; looking at her soft, innocent smile, Ziva’s necklace around her neck, he’d suddenly realized just how easily he could be taken from her. If Kort was armed, fought back, Tali would have nobody, essentially. He already knows now that in the next few days he’ll be heading down to Gibbs’ basement, leaving NCIS behind, being there for Tali all the time, as much as he can, as safe as he can be, all for his little girl.

But that wasn’t the only reason killing Kort hadn’t felt overwhelmingly good. The strange feeling stirring in Tony’s stomach contributed to that, too.

He doesn’t feel like Ziva is dead, he hadn’t felt it when she died, or supposedly died. He’d been right before, he could be right again. And there’s a very specific photo of them in Tali’s go-bag. She’s been less subtle in hints before.

And so, he leaves the scene, heads home as quickly as he can, and he feels relief and a strange contentment wash over him as he turns the key in the lock, steps into the apartment, and sees Tali sitting on the couch, Kalev in her arms, a cartoon on the TV. She’s kicking her feet in excitement. He sees his Dad in the kitchen, smells something cooking in the air. The whole place feels like home, missing just one piece. Ziva.

As Tony closes the door, Tali turns his way, evidently at the noise (Tony doesn’t think it a wild guess that good hearing is another thing she got from her mother), and her face melts into the sweetest widest grin ever.

"Abba!” she calls, leaping up off the couch and running toward him. The word sends something rushing through him, love and warmth, just like it did the first time and the few times she’d said it between that and when he left to meet the team. Now Tali’s said it once, she seems unable to stop– it’s like she was just waiting for the right time, for it to feel right and for her to feel comfortable enough with Tony for him to earn the title. Tony doesn’t think the novelty will ever wear off. He’s her dad.

She tackles him into a hug, leaping up just as he crouches down enough to catch her, and he scoops her up into a cuddle, squeezing her tight.

“Oof, hey there cutie-pie,” he says, and she wriggles happily in his grip. He pulls back a little and grins down at her. “Did you miss me?” He boops her nose and she giggles, and he takes that as her answer. She isn’t really saying much in any language, anyway, but he’s not sure how much English she really knows, how much of it Ziva spoke around her. So far they’ve gotten by fine on gestures and signals, and of course, the odd Hebrew term. They can work out the rest later on.

Senior walks in from the kitchen, wearing an apron and smiling softer than Tony thinks he’s ever known. He figures his dad probably expected this moment– Tony, home from work, greeted happily by his little girl, cuddling her in his arms– even less than Tony did himself, at times. He knows how disappointed the older man was when he’d realized how lonely and solitary Tony deliberately lived his life, not even a double bed to share with someone, a plain sophisticated apartment devoid of much warmth or love, save for a fish. This scene, right now, seemed beyond possible at times.

“Junior,” the older man says, nodding. “How are you?”

Tony hears what’s unsaid: how was it? “I’m fine.” He shifts Tali up a little, tickles her side. “It’s done.”

Senior nods. “That’s good,” he says, but Tony just shrugs, tickling Tali again, focusing on her happy squealing laughter rather than the life he took. She wriggles again, and he chuckles down at her, runs a hand through her hair. Looking at her, he knows he can’t put off what he wants to do any longer.

“I, um, I just gotta make a call,” He bounces Tali a moment, nods his head toward her then looks back up at his dad. “Could you take this jumping bean for a minute?”

Laughing softly, Senior steps closer, takes his granddaughter as Tony hands her over. “Of course!” Tali goes happily, and Senior must sense what Tony’s wanting– space–, for he takes her into the kitchen. “Now, little one, let’s check on dinner…”

Slumping onto the couch the moment they’re turned around, Tony loosens his tie, tugs it off, undoes the top button on his shirt and shoves off his jacket. As he rolls up his sleeves, he leans forward, looking again at the photo on the coffee table. Black and white, smiling faces betraying feelings still so newly realized. Paris, a lifetime ago, memories of a night of warmth and love and healing from summer-long hurt. And now, Ima and Abba.

He swallows. It has to mean what he thinks it does– right? She’s sent the same message before, it would make sense, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s right. But maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s just a wounded, mourning lonely man, suffering under the weight of too much at once. A loss and a child. Death and life. Maybe he’s going mad, losing his mind, too wracked with sorrow and pain to realize it. But then, if he’s questioning it, surely he’s perfectly sane?

Shaking his head, he pulls out his phone and the small slip of paper in his pocket, too. He’s kept it on his person every day since just in case, but now he thinks he knows why Orli gave it to him. He hopes, anyway. He types in the number, lifts the phone to his ear.

It rings three times before she picks up, despite the time difference.

“Orli.” she states, and he takes a deep, steadying breath. Now or never.

“How much d'you think flights for two to Paris are nowadays?”

“You are better than I gave you credit for, Agent DiNozzo. I thought it would be another week at least before you figured it out.”

His stomach falls to the floor in the best, excited, anticipatory way. Hope takes hold, steadfast and unrelenting. “So she’s–”

“Tony, this line isn’t secure.” Orli interrupts, hushed, and he swallows back his words, a little. Except that wasn’t a no, that wasn’t a what are you talking about? Hope grips tighter.

“But…"

"Do not tell your team– but yes.”

Oh, thank god. She’s alive. Ziva’s alive. She’s okay and she’s safe and alive and in Paris waiting for him, for them. For him and Tali.

And he might have a billion questions and he might wonder what happened to make her pretend to die and he might miss her like hell and he might be frustrated still that she never told him about Tali and he might wonder if she ever thought about the emotional impact this last week has had on him and he might want to talk to her for months about everything he’s missed and he might be curious why she doesn’t seem to want the others to know she’s okay in sending such a subtle clue just his way and Orli instructing him not to tell but god, Ziva David is still alive and that is the best damn news he’s ever, ever, heard.

And he fucking knew it.

He lets out a tearful, joyous laugh, uncontrollable, and hears Orli chuckle softly across the line, just once. “I gotta get to Paris, I gotta–”

“You will, I can help with that,” she says, voice still removed and calm, business-like. “But first, I recommend you come here. Several of Ms. David’s possessions were recovered and saved from the fire that destroyed her and her home.”

Although he hates to delay even another second, he knows there must be a reason to go to Israel, a reason Orli wants him there. Perhaps it really just is to get more of Ziva and Tali’s things and take them to her, perhaps there’s more, but he knows he’ll go, since Orli’s words suggest she’s about the only person who knows the truth about Ziva, and it’s not knowledge to even be spoken about. Besides, he doesn’t mind taking Tali back home, too. She clearly knows Orli, and though she’s adjusted remarkably well here, Tony’s keen to keep her around people she knows, too, keep her calm and grounded.

Clearing his throat, trying to slow his racing pulse just a little, he nods although Orli can’t see it. “Of course.”

“Then, you can proceed to Paris. I believe you know which accommodation to book?”

He frowns momentarily, before logic clicks, and he tries not to smile again. Ziva had left the photo from Paris, where they’d spent a significant night in a certain hotel room, and so that’s where they’ll meet this time. “Got it.”

Thinking of it, he suddenly knows he really will have to go to Gibbs and resign, leave everything here behind, for Ziva, for Tali. Just to get to Paris, leave for an unspecified amount of time, be with Ziva while the team still thinks she’s dead and gone. Maybe Ziva intends to come home, tell them she’s alive herself, but maybe she doesn’t, and maybe they’ll stay in Paris. Once upon a time the idea would’ve terrified him, made him feel sick at just the idea of leaving his father-figure, his family. But he has another family, now: he has a daughter, with Ziva, and she, and them, are the most important things he can think of in this world. He’ll leave anything if it means being with them, safe, happy.

Leaving will be tough, but for them, it’s worth it. Justified. To get to be safe, anew, with Ziva and Tali.

“If that is all, Agent DiNozzo? It is late, here,”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He clears his throat, sobers a little. “Thank you, Orli. Thank you."

He hopes she knows what he means. That he’s thanking her for this phone call, this confirmation, but for trusting him, for caring for Ziva, for carrying her message to him, for bringing Tali safely to him, for making his life complete in the way it’s suddenly become. Sniffing a little, he hears her hum.

"Goodnight, Tony,”

With that, she hangs up, and Tony sets his phone down, letting out another disbelieving teary laugh. He can hardly believe it, and yet, he can. He never felt she was dead, after all. Running his hands through his hair, then over his face to wipe away the tears– oh, such joyous tears, after so many tears of pain and loss this week– he stands, turning around and finding Senior in the kitchen, Tali wandering by his heels and babbling to herself.

“Everything okay?” His father asks, eyebrow raised.

Tony laughs, rushes in and scoops up Tali. “More than okay. Perfect. Perfect.” He smiles a goofy grin. “Oh, Tali it’s just perfect isn’t it?”

She just blinks at him, his eyes behind Ziva’s face, and babbles out a sentence he’s pretty sure is a mix of five languages, and he can’t help but think how much he loves this little girl, and how much he loves Ziva. So much is still uncertain, so much is up in the air, but they’re okay, and Ziva is okay, and that’s truly all that matters.

Senior raises an eyebrow. “Okay,” he says, tone a little confused but a little knowing, too, like he thinks he knows what’s just happened solely by his son’s happiness, but doesn’t know if he should voice it. He turns to the oven, pulls out a bubbling casserole dish. “How about we dig into this Mac and Cheese and we can talk about it all?”

Chuckling at his father’s sudden domestic god side, Tony brushes a kiss against Tali’s temple, swings her around into her high chair and ruffles her hair as she giggles over and over, and helps his father serve up dinner, brimming with excitement and happiness the whole time.

*

The moment she’d got the call from Orli her heart had stopped racing, her restless anxious stomach had calmed, and her fear had faded. Until she’d thought for a minute, and immediate worry had swarmed her, all over what Tony will have to say to her. Orli had assured her he sounded happy when he’d called her, having worked out Ziva’s clue, but happiness over someone not being dead can easily ebb away, replaced by anger that she’d never told him about his only daughter, that she’d kept that from him for over two years, pregnancy included. That while he was in DC, likely struggling over leaving her– she knows him, or she used to, at least– she had discovered she was pregnant, and chose not to tell him. Not to seek him out. And apparently was never going to until she had to fake her death, which she made him think was real, made him mourn.

And that is the truth. Ziva had always intended to tell him, sure, but she’d been intending to since she took the first pregnancy test. She just couldn’t work out how, kept putting it off, until she was three months pregnant, six months, a week away from her due date, until Tali was born, then it seemed too late, like every occasion and milestone would just rub it in even more, how long she’d kept it from him. She was seriously planning to find him when Tali turned two so soon, she knows, but she could have put that off too when the time came. And while he might be glad she’s not dead, Ziva has no idea if Tony will care enough still to want her, want to be with her, if he’ll care enough to forgive her for the past two and a half years, if this is something they can get through, or something that will always prevent them from being anything ever again.

But he’s coming to Paris, she knows that.

He’d left NCIS. That was the first bombshell Orli had informed her of last week. He had taken Tali to Israel for a week, visiting places and collecting the things Ziva hadn’t been able to save from their house before fleeing to the forest with Tali. While there, he’d let Orli know of his departure from the agency– permanently. When Ziva had found out, she couldn’t stop the guilt that rushed over her, sudden and immediate. NCIS was Tony’s world, his family, his home for so many years after moving from assignment and job, place to place, dream to dream, and he’d finally settled, just like she’d wanted to do once. She’d never wanted him to leave it for her, that’s why she’d insisted so so much on him returning there those years ago, even after the night they’d spent together. Yet, on the phone Orli had told Ziva that Tony was perfectly happy with his decision, that he’d said it felt right, to leave, have no obligations other than raising Tali. He’d said something about being everything to her, apparently. While the guilt had ebbed, Ziva’s still not sure what to make of his decision, really. It’s something she’ll need to talk to him about, find out exactly why he did it, and perhaps comfort him with it if he needs it, if he’ll accept it from her. Leaving it all, leaving Gibbs, that can’t have been easy even if Tony wanted to go.

The other bombshell came earlier today: the moment Tony and Tali’s flight had left for Charles de Gaulle, Orli had phoned Ziva with their landing time and their room number. The hotel, Ziva had already presumed.

It had been easy to get into the room, simply saying at reception that she was a good friend and sending a sweet smile at the young girl, wearing a Stagiaire / In Training badge, behind the desk, and Ziva had gained a key. She’d slipped in, smiled seeing the pop-up cot on the floor already for Tali, and looked around the oh so familiar room. That night here with Tony might’ve been so many years ago, but she remembers it clear as day. How soft and loving he’d been with her, how strong his arms had been around her, just how much he’d helped her heal. That night, and his last night in the farmhouse with her, are ones she’ll never forget, not a single detail. Few things have changed here; not the wallpaper, the crack in the marble vase filled with a fake fern, the wide space of the mirror, the plush thickness of the carpet beneath her feet, the curve of the curtains and the way the sun creeps between the buildings outside the window in the late-evening. It’s all the same, and all of it is burned into her mind.

Checking her watch, she clears her throat, knowing that Tony and Tali should only be fifteen minutes or so away, if their arrival at the airport went smoothly, which Orli’s intervention should have helped with. Nodding to herself, Ziva shifts her bag on her shoulder. She hasn’t brought many things with her, here, just her routine-driven usual spare shirt for Tali, sippy cup of water, and a few packs of snacks along with things Ziva keeps in her purse daily anyway. More of her own things, her clothes, belongings, aren’t on her person, but in the apartment she’s been living in since leaving Israel in hiding after the attack on the farmhouse. She’s just renting the place here, and there’s enough room for Tali, and Tony too if he wants that, but she’s been looking at more permanent places in the area, too.

A place to call a home. If Tony wants that, too.

She hopes he does, prays he does, but she knows it’s uncertain. All she knows for sure is that he’s coming here, soon, and she’ll get to see him for the first time in years, the first time since they’d kissed a painful goodbye on the tarmac, Tali barely beginning inside her, unbeknownst to both of them. And she’ll get to see her little girl for the first time in a few weeks, which hasn’t been quite as painful or hard but still extremely difficult.

Checking her watch, and knowing they’ll be here soon, she takes a deep breath, allows herself a look at the peaceful Paris view from the window one more time, and, since she doesn’t want to ambush both of them before they’re even through the door, she heads into the bathroom.

They’re early.

The lock clicks just a few minutes later, and Ziva hears Tali’s familiar babbling before the door is even open. She stands up, watching from the bathroom entryway, heart pounding faster than she thinks it’s ever done so before. It’s been similar, at times, her first kill, the moment the hood was lifted in Somalia, her first kiss with Tony in Israel, the moment her water broke, but never this fast, this wild. She swallows, makes herself breathe, as the door pushes open and Tali toddles in happily, Kalev in one tiny hand, oblivious to what’s about to happen in this room. A moment later, a figure follows her, and Ziva feels her heart leap into her throat as she lays her eyes on Tony for the first time since that moment on the tarmac. He looks older, a little weary and tired, and slightly crumpled from the flight, but otherwise just the same. Just the same man she adores, the man who fought for her, the father of her child, the man she’s put through far too much the past few weeks.

She doesn’t know if he doesn’t sense her or if he’s just preoccupied with Tali tearing through the room toward the rather wide window, but he turns away, back towards her, to close the door rather than immediately looking at her, and as the lock clicks again she steps forward, clears her throat.

Tali looks around first, just by a second, bursting out into a wide wide grin that Ziva’s always known is most definitely from the DiNozzo line. “Ima!” she almost shouts, diverting her run from the window and toward Ziva, instead, throwing herself at her in a giant, ferocious hug. Ziva laughs tearily as she pulls her little girl in close, presses her face into her soft little neck and her mass of curls and takes a deep breath. Tali cuddles her back just as tight, saying fast words, scraps of hebrew, and Ziva takes the strength she knows she needs, from her little girl’s grip. After a few moments Tali loosens her grip, and Ziva pulls back to smile at her, murmur a hello and kiss her soft cheek, to which Tali beams.

But then, as she must, Ziva lets go, stands up, keeping her eyes on her daughter a few beats longer than really necessary, until finally, finally, she looks up.

And there, across from her, eyes shining and the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips, is Tony DiNozzo. She loves him more than she thought possible.

He makes no move to get closer to her, just stands, looking, staring, and she swallows, wiping her hands on her thighs nervously. She smiles his way, finding her eyes shining too.

“Hi,” she says.

And just like that, he’s striding towards her, breathing heavy and ragged, eyes open and teary and full of warmth, and when he meets her his arms wrap around her tight and her knees almost give way at the feeling of being in his arms, finally, the strength the comfort, the love.

She hugs him back, so tight, presses her face into his shoulder and sobs and she feels him do the same, leaning into her hair, tears dripping onto her neck. She murmurs words against him, fears and hopes and nonsense, and he just keeps clutching at her, hands moving to different spots to hold her even closer, nearer, like he’s checking she’s really here, real and tangible beneath his hands. They stay that way for seconds, minutes, until Tali babbles below them, tugging on their legs, and they slowly pull apart.

He smiles down at the little girl, their little girl, but Ziva finds she can’t take her own eyes off him, wondering what he’ll do next, what he’s thinking, how their future will unfold. She sees as he looks up at her again, and a smile blooms on his features, softly, warmly. His hands come up to cup her face, thumb swiping away continuing tears, and she breaks as he looks at her the way he always used to: love, warmth, everything.

“Tony, I’m–”

“Hey,” he interrupts, lifting a shoulder. He shakes his head minutely, not dismissing her, she knows, but just letting her know, that’s not his biggest concern right now. Everything can wait. “You’re– you’re okay."

Whether he’s telling her, or confirming it to himself, she’s not sure. She thinks maybe it’s a bit of both.

Either way, she sends him a watery smile, nods, and a grin spreads across his lips. Tali’s grin. As if he knows where her mind’s at, he reaches down, scoops up their little girl before she can tug on them even more. He reassures her quietly as he stands and sets her on his hip, and Ziva’s mouth goes dry at the sight of her daughter in his arms, the arms of her father. Somehow it looks more perfect before her than she’d ever thought.

More tears spring in her eyes, matching ones reappearing in Tony’s, and she can’t help but laugh, giddy, overwhelmed with happiness. Tony does the same, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer again, and Tali, looking between her parents, both of them, giggles too, and Ziva tickles her neck lightly until the little girl squeals in delight.

The moment is so, so perfect, Ziva just leans in, brushes her lips against Tony’s smiling grin, softly, briefly. His stubble brushes her skin, his scent fills her, the same spice and warmth as always, as years ago, decades. He kisses her back in the brief moment before she pulls back, and she rests her head in the crook of his neck, breathing everything in. His arm around her squeezes her waist gently, and they watch Tali grinning at them both, listening as she starts to talk at them both. And there they stand, in the middle of a Paris hotel room, a family for the first time.

They still have a lot to figure out, where they go from here, Ziva explaining things to him, telling him everything about Tali, Tony talking about the past few weeks, and years, at NCIS, working out their future, especially his with Tali, being open about their feelings, finally, and they both know it. Everything is uncertain and murky, and they can’t stay wrapped up here forever, they will have to address it, they must.

But somehow, in Tony’s arms, their daughter by their side, Ziva knows, they’ll be okay.

[miragethedragonmain]

Yeah, imma need 10 and 13 for some quality softness. You choose the ship! :,)

Oh lord I live for quality softness I just suck at it so we’re just gonna yeet my go to ship up in here, which me and a friend affectionatly call Marage because it makes us happy gays.

Anyways for reference, Mar is like, 5”2’ maybe 115 lbs, muscular but so tinyyy. Also likes to dye theie hair various shades of colors. Known as ‘Quake’ in the Apex Games.

10. How does your f/o keep you safe? How would you do the same?

Mmm so Elliot, bless him, spends half his time worrying about the physical safety of his tiny, mostly non-bianary bf while the ither half is being concerned with their mental safety. Their backstory? Super fucked. What they remembee of it anyways. So most of the time it’s just Eli keeping them away from the press, out of prying eyes until they can actual answer a lot of questions. He tries to make life as stress free as possible, including acting like a big body shield in more ways then one. It’s often difficult to not have Mirage on a team with Quake, mostly because Elliot is either super distracted worrying about them, or to busy trying to find them to avoid their whole squad.

Mar is debatably a lot more... agressive about keeping Elliot safe, now that their comfortable being out in the open with him, anyways. Always there when he has bad days about his mom, or his brothers, or panicks because of the effect respawning and that stupid totem Revenant has. It’s not a lot, but days where no one can talk to Elliot but Mar have been planned out, and they just... hold him, pet him a lot. Tries to cook for him, fails ( although they’re getting better ) so they order pizza.

They are also he shelters them from the press ( Also Revenant and Caustic because, lets be honest, everyone is terrified of them ) and while they’re appriciative, once their relationship was noticed by the public and everyone just kept badgering the poor man, conference after conference, until it got to the point where the stress on Mirage was more then Mar was willing to let him have. He was doing it to protect them, they knew that, but this was insane. Eventually, it got to the point where Mirage could barly go to his bar without being pressed by the press and that was the line Mar drew. In the games? Fine. Outside the games, the two of them were going to be left alone, or god help whoever decided it was a good idea to go to the bar that night.

Eventually, they just... stormed out into a press conference, stood in front of him ( which is impressive in and of itself really, because like... seven inch height difference I think? Maybe nine? I forget ) and answered every question that was thrown at them, calmly and cooly. One hand behind their back sort of gripping onto Elliot and his holo suit, to calm both of them down. There was lots of snuggling after that conference, with silly movies and popcorn. None of the legends dared to bother them for like a week. The press tred very carefully around Mar after that.

13. How much time do you or your f/o devote to relaxing/cuddling

Literally, and I cannot stress this enough, whenever they can. Mar is super prone to blackout moments, as well as panic attacks triggered by little things unless their stress levels are kept down. Elliot is super empathic, at least with Mar and close friends, so he gets stressed when a bad spell is coming for them. There is lots of cooking ( that’s mostly Elliot ) and lots of absently doodling on any paper surface in the apartment ( that’s Mar ). Cuddles? You bet your ass. Every night for literal hours, unless their required to make an appearance at the bar ( Mar works there in their spare time, they really don’t have a life outside the games ) and is being taught how to properly be a bartender by Elliot and his decoys, much to the amusement of the regulars. To be honest even that can get sorta sappy, depending on the crowd. This couple?

Soft.